Moments: Old Wounds
by MissjudyK
Summary: A What happens next for the Prime of Life. The Cartwright sons are in San Francisco for a rest after the trestle project, while Ben stays home to make some big decisions. Over the next several day, two members of the family will face the agony of old wounds.


**Moments: Old Wounds **

**Talking it out**

**(A "sequel" for **_**The Prime of Life and First in a series called, Moments**_**)**

(This story will reference a Frankie and Melinda. These are characters from my previous stories. They are both people he met while in Boston for college. There is a * footnote explaining this better.)

**One**

"What are you two magpies laughing about," Adam asked his brothers as he entered their well-appointed suite at the new Occidental hotel in San Francisco.

"Didn't you say you was goin' to that McClellan's men's store this morning to buy new _work_ duds?" Hoss asked innocently, before starting to laugh again.

"I did, but they always have to special order the longer inseams and shirtsleeves I need." His raised cheek and furrowed brow evidenced his growing frustration. "But what does that have to do with you two carrying on?"

"Well," Little Joe choked out, "McClellan's already delivered your order, and It leaves us wondering if you decided to raise the standard of dress out in the pastures." The youngest brother walked to the couch and lifted two hangers: one holding a midnight black coat with satin inserts at the edges of the lapels and pockets; the other held matching slacks with a blade-sharp crease. Setting those down, he displayed a folded, crisp white shirt, starched collar and black bowtie. He winked at Hoss. "If this isn't Adam's new outfit for wrangling steers, maybe he plans to earns a little extra cash working as a maître d at one of the fancy restaurants around here."

Adam went to inspect the expensive-looking suit, and hung it on a coat hook near the door. "This is for tonight. I wasn't sure if the San Francisco Symphony was doing a concert while we were here on our much-deserved vacation, so I stopped at the box office on my way to the store. Not only is it opening night, but a friend from college is on tour and performing as the violin soloist. Luckily, he was there rehearsing, so I got to see him and he gave me a front-row ticket for tonight. I'll be going out with him and his wife afterwards too." He noticed the uncomfortable looks being sent his way, and this time, he laughed. "Don't worry, there's only one ticket. You're free to see that revue you were talking about."

"Thank you fer _that_." Hoss' gratitude was genuine. "But why do you need them fancy clothes?"

Joe blurted, "Maybe he has to work as an usher before the concert in order to get that seat." He stopped laughing when he received exasperated looks from both brothers.

"Everyone dresses to the nines on opening night. I stopped by Frankie Wadsworth's* office to make arrangements to pick up the dress clothes I leave at his house, but he said I should use his formal suit instead. It was at McClellan's being cleaned and pressed, and he had it sent over."

Hoss' cheek rose. "You ain't seen Frankie since last fall when he came to visit us. How's he doin'?"

"He says everything is fine, but considering all the building going on around town, his engineering office seemed quiet." His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. "He can't make the concert tonight, but promised to join us later at the restaurant." Adam slipped out of the blue suit coat he wore when in the city, draped it over a chair, and faced his brothers with a smile. "Pa's supposed to get here Friday, but we can do whatever we'd like until then. In that spirit, I made appointments for all of us in the men's bath downstairs."

"We took baths before we left the ranch," Hoss lamented.

"It's not just a bath," Adam explained. "We'll take a steam in the sauna and then have a long massage, followed by a mineral bath." Hoss's warry look persisted, making Adam chuckle. "It'll make you feel relaxed, and frankly, I tried getting the dirt, sawdust and pine sap off my skin, but I still feel gritty. I'm getting a manicure too."

Joe giggled again. "You gonna get your nails painted like the saloon girls?"

Adam ignored his brother's gibe. "I have more callouses than skin on my hands; I've chewed my nails back or hacked them off with a pocket knife for months, and they're stained from the sap." He chuckled as he pointed to the formal suit. "between the roughness, hangnails and snags, fine material like that wouldn't stand a chance. So …" He clapped his hands together. "If you'd like to join me downstairs, you can indulge in any or all of what I've suggested."

"That don't sound half-bad," Hoss finally admitted, while his younger brother stroked his chin.

"I suppose the girls at that revue tonight might enjoy a man who smells like soap instead of … _other _things," Joe concluded. "If the Bull of the Woods is payin', I'll go along."

"I'll pay, but you two can buy dinner." Adam thought a moment. "That revue you were thinking of seeing isn't near the docks, is it?"

"It's just down the block from here, Adam," Joe replied, adding a nearly vocal roll of his eyes.

Joe's reaction fired Adam's protective instincts. "My concern is justified, Joe. You had to free Pa and Hoss when they got Shanghaied a few years ago, and young, strong men like you two are still prime targets. We can venture down there after Pa joins us. But until then, I want to enjoy myself and not worry about you two being on your way to China."

Pulling himself to his full height, Joe squared his shoulders and shot a heated look at his older brother that could have melted iron. "Seems like Hoss and I worked just as hard as you on that trestle. That should prove we can handle ourselves without you tellin' us what we can, or cant' do. And we sure don't need you acting like you're our Pa anymore. If we get Shanghaied … well that's our problem, not yours."

What Joe said made sense, or at least up to the last sentence. Adam and his youngest brother struggled to find their boundaries with each other. What the young man never seemed willing to admit was that there was a difference in Adam being his "older brother," as opposed to his responsibilities as the _eldest _son in a family where he'd been a caregiver and second-in-charge for so long. The last thing he wanted right now was an argument, but when his father had sent his sons on ahead to begin their celebration after the trestle was finished, he'd pulled Adam aside, asking his "eldest" son to protect his brothers.

"Little" Joe _had_ proven his capabilities on the ranch. But their father still worried about Joe's impulsiveness, and Adam had given his word to maintain a surreptitious lookout on the youngest—while hoping there'd be nothing for him to see.

He should have known better. This was their first full day in San Francisco and even though the revue was close by; he suspected Joe might be planning an adventure afterwards. If Adam wanted to have fun without the fate of his brothers lurking at the edges of his mind, he had to make the preemptive strike.

Joe was still looking at him—hands on his hips, physically issuing the challenge he'd given verbally—awaiting an answer. His youngest brother responded best to humor. Not the kind that would make fun of him, but something to take the sting out Joe's need to comply with the demand to stay out of trouble.

"You and Hoss getting Shanghaied would certainly be my problem. With you two gone, Pa would expect me to work three times as hard to make up for your absence." Adam noted the immediate effect of his statement. Joe's shoulder resumed their normal position, and he grinned despite his attempts to control it. "I know you contribute equally to the work we do now, and I recognize that you two gave everything you had to get that contract finished," he continued as Joe relaxed more. "But that doesn't mean I won't still worry about your safety, especially at these docks. Pa and I don't go there when we come to San Francisco for business either. If you promise to stay away unless we're all together, I promise I won't bring it up again."

Joe punched Hoss in the shoulder and smiled broadly. "I do like it when our older brother apologizes to us."

"He didn't owe me no apology, Joe. I wasn't upset with what he said in the first place. It weren't no fun gettin' nabbed that time, and I got no intention of letting it happen again." Hoss winked at Adam. "So, how do we get ready for this pamperin'?"

Hoss' question went unanswered when a loud knock sent him to the door, where he slid the cover from a small opening that allowed him to see who was there.1 "It's one of them room attendants," he announced, looking back at his brothers. "He's holdin' something."

"Well let him in!" Adam laughed as he withdrew a few coins from his pocket. The white-gloved attendant deposited an expensive bottle of bourbon and 3 glasses on the table, before handing Adam a telegram and accepting the gratuity.

"Who's that from?" Joe wondered aloud while inspecting the bottle.

"The origin is Virginia City, so I'd guess Pa." Adam opened and read the note with Hoss peering over his shoulder, and then handed it to Joe.

"Pa sends us some fancy liquor to say he ain't comin'?" Hoss's grumbling sounded more sad than mad.

Joe pointed at the telegram. "He's staying home to fill in so the crew can have time off too?"

"That's the gist." Adam drew his lips together, and sighed. "I'm not surprised."

"What makes you say that?" Hoss asked as his left cheek rose and his eye narrowed.

Adam glanced at the mantel clock. "I'll explain downstairs. Grab some clean things to change into afterwards. We're gonna be late for our appointment.

**Two**

Ben leaned down to rub his right leg just below the knee. The only reminder of his brush with the axe blade on the day Gabe had died, was a glistening white scar and occasional achiness: at least until lately. He thought back to what he'd done over the last few days, and couldn't remember bumping his leg or twisting it. Yet it hurt so much he'd started limping earlier in the day when the ache had turned to a throbbing pain in his calf. He'd been in town at the time, and thought he'd stop by for a quick check, until remembering that Paul was away. He had a bottle of laudanum Paul had given him back when it happened, but he didn't like the taste or the effects, and had been managing the discomfort so far with a hot water bottle. The pain had eased some since he'd gotten home from town, but it was noticeable enough that he planned to put his feet up on the settee and catch a quick nap as soon as finished the monthly ledgers.

The clock chimed twice, making him wonder what his sons were up to in San Francisco. When they'd left, he'd told them he'd finish up some details and join them by the weekend. He was careful not to make it a solid promise, and he assumed the telegram with his regrets should have been delivered by now.

The truth was, he wasn't ready to celebrate. But there was no reason his sons shouldn't enjoy a break after their herculean efforts to fulfill the timbering contract for the Central Pacific Railroad. He grinned as he recalled Adam's Bull of the Woods, bovine affirmative to Joe's question of whether it was time to get away.

Ben sat back and smiled with the remembrance of his satisfaction at coming out on top of Barney Fuller to win the trestle project, but then darker memories took over as he recalled the early weeks of the project when so much had gone wrong. There'd been delays due to weather and equipment failures. As their initial deadlines had drawn near, the frustration at their lack of headway had built towards one fatal moment that he would never forget. Gabe had died, and while his own injury had healed, the wound to his confidence had led to a spate of introspection and his complete standstill: making him overthink each decision he'd tried to make, until he'd handed the entire project off to his sons.

A knowing grin spread across his lips when he considered the kick in the pants Barney Fuller had given him. With Barney's admonition, he began to see that people with great responsibility can make mistakes; it's what they do afterwards that sets "real" leaders apart. The visit from Gabe's daughter had led him to a less emotional consideration of all that had occurred, and he'd asked Hoss for his thoughts on what he'd seen the day of the accident. These three people, along with hours of prayer and his sons' easy welcome back, had allowed him to understand that while he bore the responsibility for his impatience, in the end, the fatal outcome had been an avoidableaccident.

Ben remained truly grateful that his sons hadn't held his absence against him or confronted him about it at the time. They'd pulled together as a family once he was back on track, and they'd completed the contract on time with minimal fines for a few late deliveries. His return had knit the family into a useable form again, but the mental discipline; attention to each small detail to prevent further delays, and the pure physical load, had left his sons too exhausted to do more than work or sleep.

If his first reason for not joining them was his less-than-celebratory mood, the more important reason was to allow them to relax and discuss all that had gone wrong—and what they'd suggest doing differently. He'd actually tasked Adam with bringing up the subject and forcing Hoss and Joe to work it out.

He was doing the same soul-searching while alone, and he'd come to his own conclusions. Earlier in the day, he'd gone to town to discuss changes to their business documents with their attorney. With any luck, there'd be an addendum ready to sign when the boys returned; one that would prevent such a situation from happening again.

**Three**

Adam added a dipper of water to the container of rocks being heated by the embers in the clay pit beneath it, and took a deep breath of the rising steam. The humid air in the sauna had already created mops of damp ringlets on the oldest and youngest brothers' heads, while Hoss' straight strands were flattened against scalp, looking like an old-man's nightcap.

"This does feel good. Why ain't we ever done this before?" Hoss asked of no one in particular.

"Amenities like this are common in hotels back East," Adam explained after taking another deep breath. "Out here, the instant growth after finding gold produced a need for rooms, restaurants and saloons, and that's what was built. San Francisco has become more refined since then. Nicer hotels were built, like the ones we stay at for business trips. Upscale restaurants popped up, and now, new hotels, like the Occidental, are adding high-end services for those who don't mind paying for them. It was Pa's suggestion that we stay here and see whether the higher rates are worthwhile." He chuckled and leaned back against the warm sauna wall to ease the sore muscles in his back. "I was most happy to oblige."

Joe sat up and peered across the small room. "I can barely see you, Adam. You're just a ghost in the fog." He addressed Hoss next. "You … are a very hairy ghost." He indulged his humor with a round of laughter before addressing a more serious topic. "What did you mean upstairs, Adam, when you said you weren't surprised that Pa isn't coming?"

The very relaxed oldest brother pushed more deeply against the warm boards and chewed on his lip while chewing through his thoughts. "Pa took satisfaction in completing that job on time, despite taking time to overcome the demons that plagued him after Gabe's death. He seems fine, but I suspect he has lingering concerns about some things. And Pa's wise enough to know that even though we didn't waste time critiquing his absence or complaining about things at the time, we had concerns of our own. By not joining us, he's giving us time talk about it."

"Do we really want to do that?" Joe asked. "It seems we'd be talking behind his back."

"I'm not advocating that we place blame or speak unkindly about Pa. The importance lies in addressing how a single change of circumstances affected our ability to conduct business, nearly making us lose the contract."

Hoss' puckered cheeks and forehead were concealed by steam when Adam added another dipper of water to the rocks. "Yer smart about these things, Adam, and I gotta admit I wasn't so happy with how things was goin' at times. But are you sayin' that Pa's alone at home, rehashing his responsibility over Gabe's death and waitin' for us to come back and clobber him with every other thing we think he did wrong?"

"If the Ponderosa belongs to all of us, it's important we identify problems and suggest change. He'll want to hear our conclusion when we get back. We've done this before on smaller matters, and it has always proved valuable." Adam sat up straighter. "Do _you_ think Pa still feels guilty about Gabe, Hoss? Joe and I weren't there when it happened, and no one wanted to bring it up with Pa feeling so lost at first. And we sure wouldn't risk bringing it up once he was working again." Adam nodded to Joe, and both men focused on their middle brother. "We'd like to hear your thoughts."

"Loosing a man, right there in front a ya while you ya can't do a thing to stop it, lays heavy. I still dream about it." Hoss's head dipped lower before he pulled his shoulders back and sat up, looking straight ahead. "Here's the thing: we all made mistakes that that day. But it came down to just one thing."

Hoss' observation was said in such a soft, reflective tone that Adam inched closer on the wooden bench to hear better. "Please go on."

The big man rested his elbows on his knees. Recalling the scene made him shiver despite the heat in the sauna. "Gabe was a good man who was always lookin' for some unusual spark of color on that dark forest floor … but ..."

"While there was no harm in Gabe searching for beauty around him, the dangerous work going on around him required close attention?" Adam offered.

"That's exactly right! I'd hear him jabberin' away when Pa was tryin' to work on books and calculations. Pa listened with half-an-ear, and said only what he had to, while encouraging Gabe back to work. Thing is, Gabe seemed to think Pa didn't never see all them things he talked about. Yet I don't know another man who appreciates his life and surroundings more'n our pa. Gabe couldn't see that Pa had to keep goin'. There were men dependin' on him for wages to support their families, and we had to pay our bills to keep our supplies comin'. On top of that, we were facin' big fines because we was fallin' behind. So far as I know, Gabe never faced the pressures of bein' in charge. And while he might'a thought he was helping Pa with all his sayings about slowin' down to appreciate things, he couldn't understand that his carryin' on distracted Pa, keepin' him from getting caught up enough to do just what Gabe was sayin' to do."

Adam nodded while Joe said, "That's a good description, Hoss. I saw the same thing when I was at camp. So, what went wrong _that_ day that was worse than other days?"

"All Pa's figurin' had showed him a way to get square on time again … until that block on the pulley cracked. Havin' spares on hand was Gabe's job, and the delay in getting one to the camp ruinedPa's hope of catchin' up."

Joe looked toward Adam, his eyebrows rising along with a grimace. "I remember Pa saying at first that he'd killed Gabe. Did his order to try hoisting with that part cause the death?"

"The part wasn't to blame. Nor was Pa for tryin' it," Hoss said strongly. "We start each morning reminding the whole crew, including Gabe, how to stay safe once we start swingin' cuts overhead to stack or move 'em. Our most important rule is that _no one_ walks under a hangin' log. Pa kept hollerin' at people to stay out of the drop area while we worked that pulley." He scrubbed his face. "Not a single man should'a walked under there."

"But Gabe did." Adam concluded for his brother.

A nod. "It happened fast. Someone asked for a hook and Gabe shuffled over, taking a path right under it." Hoss slammed his hand next to him on the wooden bench. "He liked to say we rushed so much we couldn't see the forest for the trees. But right then, he should have had his eye on just _one tree_!"

Joe sighed loudly. "I suppose Pa still felt responsible for creating the circumstance."

"You've done enough timbering to know there's danger _any time_ logs are being moved," Hoss stated emphatically. "There ain't never a guarantee that a pulley, whether it looks good or not, won't crack or give way under a log that's too heavy. One of the pulley ropes could snap just as easy. That's why we have that rule!"

Adam brought his brothers back to the story. "What I think you're saying, Hoss, is that if Gabe had have gone around and handed it off from behind or beside the work area, no one would have been hurt when the pulley failed."

Hoss nodded several times. "That's what I told Pa, and I think he began to see the truth of the matter. I'm thankful that whatever Mrs. Fletcher said to him helped ease his mind too."

Joe sat forward, directing his question to the ghostly outline of his oldest brother. "After hearing that, I think Pa has no reason not to come to peace with what happened. So … what else is bothering him?" Joe wiped his face with a towel. "And hurry up with an answer. I'm so hot, my sweat is beginning to sweat in here."

"Gabe's death might have been an accident, but it made Pa question his ability to make decisions. When he couldn't resolve this, he said he was giving us the ranch and the project to run as we saw fit. But what he really did was just walk away."

"What do you mean by that?" Hoss' puzzled statement included a protective tone.

"His emotional turmoil caused him to react. He told _us_ the ranch was ours to run, but he never made it official outside the walls of our house. He stayed at home, perhaps thinking that everyone blamed him as much as he did at first. Pa was entitled to take some time off to sort things out. The problem we faced was that _he'd_ signed that contract; _he'd _made verbal deals for equipment, and _he_ took the lead with the crews. We'd each been overseeing some part of the project, but _we_ were still just part of the crew.

"When Pa stopped showing up, it left our men edgy. They weren't willing to turn over their trust just because we _said_ we were in charge. And by not publicly announcing his intention that we run things, those who'd provided us with capital and equipment got edgy too—wondering what was happening on the Ponderosa. That uncertainty allowed our biggest competitor to drive in those doubts like a sledgehammer on a rail spike. The three of us walked into that whirlwind, claiming we were in charge. No one cared that we'd all run our ranch at times or negotiated deals that had brought in contracts just as lucrative as this. In this instance Pa was the face of this project. His absence left us …."

Adam pushed the wet curls of hair back away from his face, while considering the best way to describe this to his brothers. "A principle of battle is to always hold the high-ground and fight downhill, pinning your opponent below where they can't escape. Pa's decision left us in a valley, fighting uphill against our men on one hillside, and our suppliers on the other. Without solid evidence of Pa's intention that we take over, we attempted to prove it with our words and fists. We might have pulled it out if we'd kept on fighting, but we'd have incurred substantial losses. Thankfully, Pa found his strength and returned."

"You say Pa was entitled to his time off, Adam, but then note what went bad because he took it. What should he have done?" Joe's question was genuine.

"Telling others what he told us would have helped. It's not the first time Pa has had to withdraw from a project, even if for different reasons, but this time rumors grew to fear. People thought he was either too injured to return, or too broken mentally to manage things. Not addressing that let people believe whatever they wanted."

Hoss sat forward, fanning the steam away to see his brother more clearly. "How would he have gone about doin' what you said?"

"He could have come to back to camp to thank the men for mustering on after the accident, and tell them that he'd be out a while to fully recover. The men would have had confidence in us if he'd have assured their doubts with a simple statement saying he was sure that with such a capable crew, being led now by his sons, who were as knowledgeable about the project as he was, there was no way the trestle wouldn't be completed on time."

I'm starting to understand," Joe said. "Folks probably expect Pa'll step back one day. But no one expected him to up and walk away in the middle of something. He didn't even explain it to us; just said we were in charge, like it was something we'd been wanting."

"Do ya really think that tellin' people we was in charge would'a made much difference?" Hoss asked.

"Folks don't usually pay much attention to how this family gets things done; as long as we keep doing it," Adam explained. "Cattle and timber are our biggest sources of income, and our success allows us to pay off our loans; order a lot of supplies from every store in town; hire men whose wages help them purchase things and keep the saloons going, and we use our profits to keep expanding. Pa had been vocal about the importance of this railroad contract, not for just this work, but for the growth of the West. The town saw him as a herald for the future, and news of his absence at the work sites, and his failure to answer inquiries from people in town, left people got skittish, wondering if the Ponderosa was going under."

Joe snorted. "I agree with what you said, but Barney Fuller pushed a lot of that skittishness too."

"Barney's a good businessman, and while we wouldn't have been as devious, Pa would have made others aware that we were available with the crews at the ready, if Barney had won the contract, and suddenly disappeared." Adam smiled knowingly. "And somewhere in that mess—when Pa didn't answer Barney's salvos and fight back—I believe his motive for poking at us changed."

Hoss' lips twitched into a scowl, "What do ya mean by that?"

"There were two things that moved Pa from the doldrums. One was your appeal to Gabe's daughter, Hoss. The other was Barney Fuller. Pa and Barney were the original businessmen out here. They love the art of the deal, but they also want to be in the midst of the work, shouting orders, getting sore backs and breathing the pine-air. It's as much who they are, as what they do. Only Barney could tell Pa the truth about how he was acting, and make him face the futility of his self-imposed withdrawal. Men like them move forward in the face of adversity; they don't hide in their house dressed in a robe, limp with a cane and mope about their mistakes … and they certainly don't tuck their tail and leave in the middle of a project."

"Do you think Barney said something to Pa?" Joe asked.

"All we know for sure is that Pa finally got dressed, saddled his horse, and resumed the life he was meant to lead. But I saw one of Barney's skinny cigar stubs on the ground by our hitching post when we got home the evening after Pa showed up in camp, so Barney did pay a visit."

Hoss wiped the sweat from his forehead with his equally sweaty arm. "I wasn't likin' Barney Fuller back then, but if he did give Pa a nudge outa that robe and onto Buck's back, then I'm mighty grateful."

A blast of cool air entered through the opening door raising gooseflesh on the sauna's three occupants. "It's time for your massages, gentlemen," the attendant told them as he handed each a thick robe. "If you'll follow me, please ..."

Hoss rubbed his hands together and smacked his lips as three servers carried in trays of food and set the table in their suite for dinner. "Don't that look nice and smell good," he told his brothers as he observed the completed setting with its fine china and crystal glassware sparkling in the light of the flickering candles. "Let's eat so we can get dressed for the show."

The afternoon of pampering had left all three brothers so relaxed that they'd returned to their rooms and napped until dinnertime. Adam suggested they eat in their room to save him having to don one suit for the dining room, and then redress in formalwear for the concert.

They were silent as they dug into their food, but Hoss issued a satisfied, "I ain't never tasted chicken like this before," as he dove into his second piece. "Hop Sing's a good cook, but this is outstandin'!"

"The chef here is French, so there was bound to be a fantastic sauce." Adam handed the larger piece of his chicken to Hoss. "I'm eating again later, so I'll just take the edge off my appetite now. Nothing's worse than experiencing the internal ruckus of a rich meal while in a situation where you can't do anything to get more comfortable." He grinned slyly. "I might end up needing to time any gassy releases to a part of the score featuring the percussion section."

Joe stopped eating long enough to laugh at Adam's admission, and say, "I can't believe how hungry I got doing absolutely nothing this afternoon."

"You relaxed," Adam told him. "We ate to keep going the last couple of months, but now you're able to actually enjoy the meal."

Hoss chuckled with his mouth full, moving his chewing process to one side to speak. "I don't know what's causin' it, but it does feel good."

Laying his fork aside, Joe pushed his plate forward, rested his elbows on the table and stared at Adam. "I have a question left over from our conversation in that sweat box. I understand why Pa might want us to chew on those things we talked about. I just hate that he didn't come because he thinks we're mad at him."

Adam sat back and blew out a long breath. "I _was_ frustrated with knowing exactly what needed to be done, and not be able to accomplish it because people still were still looking to Pa for approval. But he wouldn't duck us because he thinks we're mad. He's using his time to relax too, and think about ways he can put us out in front of more projects. That way people will see us as being in charge.

"That's gonna be a big step for Pa," Hoss mumbled through a mouthful of potatoes.

"He's already done that with parts of the business," Adam countered. "He started taking me along to learn how to broker a contract and close a deal, shortly after I got home from school. Each time we showed up together, he'd remind our clients that I'd be representing him and the ranch in the near future. Of course, I had to prove to all of them that I was capable and good at it. But when I started showing up alone, no one questioned my ability or authority."

Hoss laid his napkin on the table and pushed his chair back. "If Pa really did send us here to work things through, then we already done enough to know what we want to say. So … I've got an idea. I don't want Pa to be alone anymore. Why don't we have some fun tonight, and then catch the stage home tomorrow, get things straight with him, and then we can all go do somethin' together, like a fishin' trip."

"I'd agree to that," Joe responded quickly.

"Let's plan for the next day, instead," Adam suggested. "Pa did ask us to check on a few things while we're here. I'll go by the CPRC offices and see what they've heard about funds coming through for the cross-country railroad, and you two can head to the Cattlemen's Exchange to see what's going on there. Tomorrow evening, we can venture down to Shanghai Pete's for dinner. It's a safe enough place on the edge of the wharf district with great seafood … and some pretty ladies who sing and dance."

Hoss and Joe agreed, even volunteering to get the stage tickets in the morning.

"The revue we're goin' to starts in two hours," Hoss said after checking the mantel clock. "When's your concert, Adam?"

He glanced at the same clock. "Eight, also."

"Is this friend of yours any good?"

Joe's question and sour expression made Adam smile. "He's the concert master of the New York Philharmonic2, so I'd venture that he's probably the top violinist in the United States."

"How'd you meet up with a violin player when you was studyin' engineering?" Hoss asked.

"The males in Peter's family were lawyers and bankers who'd all attended Harvard. His father appreciated Pete's talent, but insisted he complete a non-music degree to have something to 'fall back on' if his musical endeavors failed to provide a decent income. Peter was smart, but not focused outside his music. He needed a tutor, and I enjoyed having a little extra spending money. I helped get numbers to make sense to him, and before long I dropped the fees asked Pete to teach me what he could about music theory, history and composition. We both learned a lot over those four years."

Hoss' eyes narrowed as he observed his older brother's half-grin. "You're choking somethin' back. I can always tell when you're rememberin' something funny or embarrassing, Adam. Out with it!"

Another glance towards the clock assured him he had time, and he sat back to tell the story that had made him laugh inwardly. "I always wondered if I could play the violin, and I finally worked up the courage to ask Pete if I could try his."

Adam stopped to chuckle. "He brought it along the next time, and made me sit through a half-hour lecture on the nuances of applying a bow to the strings—comparing it to caressing a woman's cheek so lightly and sensually as to make her swoon. He finally helped me figure out how to hold everything and then said, 'Play.' I drew the bow across the G string as he'd instructed. First it squawked like an anguished soul crying from the depths of hell, and then all the hair on the bow blew apart so it looked like a skinny horse tail hanging there. Peter shook his head; sighed, and said, 'Adam, perhaps your talents are more suited to the guitar where you can pluck like you're removing feathers from a chicken or milking a cow back home.'"

"I'm bettin' you wanted to hide under yer bed after that." Hoss' voice held the empathy of one who wasn't adept at skills requiring a gentle touch.

"I did ... But Peter couldn't keep a straight face and admitted he'd rigged an old bow to disintegrate with any pressure. We had a good laugh, and then laughed even harder when he let me try again with a good bow, and the souls of hell screamed once more. Peter said I attacked the violin, and that I really would do better with a guitar where my strength would enhance the sound. He brought a guitar along to his next session, and he was right. I liked it from the first strum."

**Four**

Hop Sing began clearing the few supper dishes from the table set for one, and frowned at seeing the amount of food remaining on his boss' plate. "You no like?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I know what wrong … you never eat good when sons gone. Why you not go along? You with them anyway up here." He pointed to his head.

Ben chuckled with the accuracy of his cook's observations. "You're probably right. And everything was delicious; I didn't each much because I'm a little under the weather. If you would, I'd appreciate a hot water bottle."

The look on Hop Sing's face turned from accusatory to concerned. "I get it lickety split. You want I bring to your room?"

He'd planned to read downstairs before turning in, but Hop Sing's suggestion sounded better. "That would be great. I'll lock up and turn down lights in the main room before I go up." Ben stood when Hop Sing was back in the kitchen, but fell immediately back onto his chair as the sharp pain shooting up his leg made his knee give out. He tried standing more slowly and managed to lock his joint enough to limp away from the table. Rubbing his leg was becoming instinctual, just as it was while the original wound was healing. He leaned against the door after securing the latch and bent over to rub it again, easing the hint of cramping he felt. His stiff-legged cautiousness took him to the various lamps, lowering them to a flicker before heading up the stairs. The pain even marked his method of climbing, making him double-foot each step.

A throb in his head joined the percussion in his leg as he undressed and slipped into a nightshirt. His trip across the room diverted to a drawer in his washstand where he removed a dark amber bottle that he brought along to the bed. Holding the label under the lamp, he read the dosage and took two swallows of the Laudanum before slipping between the sheets.

He was drowsy by the time Hop Sing arrived with the skin bag containing hot water. Ben could hear himself offering thanks but his voice sounded so far away. He thought he felt a hand rest briefly on his forehead, but he wasn't sure since everything seemed disconnected. In this case, he was right.

"You burning up!" Hop Sing said nervously. "You need doctor?"

Ben's head lolled side-to-side. "I'll be fine with some sleep. It's probably just something going around."

"I sleep upstairs tonight," Hop Sing said in a tone not allowing disagreement. "I leave both doors open. You call if you need me."

"Thank you." Ben again wondered if he'd actually said that or just thought it. His hands felt like he was wearing thick mittens as he tried to readjust the location of the heated flask. He was about to call Hop Sing back when he got it lodged comfortably under his knee. The simple task left him winded and he collapsed back against the pillow, muttering, "Those boys of mine are lucky I didn't go along," as he drifted off.

**Five**

Adam's eyes rounded in shock when he noted the time on the clock in the restaurant foyer. It was well after midnight. The concert was wonderful, and Peter's skill and artistry was even more honed and impeccable than he remembered. The music had touched his heart and buoyed his soul, and he wouldn't have minded if it had gone on even longer.

He was jarred back to the present when Frankie slapped his back in greeting. He'd finished his meeting and had been waiting for the concertgoers to arrive.

"It's about time you all got here," Frankie chided the group. "I arrived nearly an hour ago, and since you weren't here, other friends forced me to join them for drinks."

"I'm sorry you were so lonely in our absence," Adam offered in false sympathy. "The star of the concert had a hard time breaking away from the throng offering their congratulations. What I do find unbelievable in what you said, is that anyone had to 'force' you to have a drink."

"That's so true, my old friend." Frankie's eyes glowed with mischief and the effects of whatever fine liquor he'd already consumed. "C'mon. Let's go before they give our table away and make us eat in the kitchen."

Adam took a look around as he followed his group through the restaurant. He'd brokered Ponderosa beef to the owner when it had opened a few years ago, and while their menu had always been outstanding because of that, the original décor of the restaurant had a mundane quality that did little to complement the food. When the luxurious Occidental hotel went up a few doors down, and theaters just a few blocks away, the owner had confided to Adam that his plan to entice the rapidly expanding San Francisco gentry to dine there, had included a redo of the interior.

This was the first time Adam had come in since the extensive remodel, and he used the time while Frankie and Pete talked about the performance to take a good look around. His engineer's perspective quickly noted that while the size of the dining room hadn't changed, the designer had reworked the space to create an open, well-organized room that allowed maximum usage while maintaining an easy flow around the tables. His gaze followed the white and silver brocade wallpaper up towards the ceiling where the teardrop-shaped prisms of the chandeliers reflected candlelight from below, as well as refracting light from small oil lamps nestled into the branching tendrils of the fixtures. Lighting at table level was muted, while up above, the glittering display set against a dark ceiling, creating the look of stars twinkling in the night sky. It induced a sense of calm and elegance, and he gave a silent bravo to the designer.

The pleasant surroundings and the low hum of voices around him, allowed his mind to relax … and his eyelids to droop. He'd awaken at his normal pre-dawn time, and even with his earlier snooze, he hadn't compensated for the exhaustion of the past few months. He was stifling a yawn when he looked across the table and found his party staring at him. Frankie was grinning wickedly.

"What's the matter, Adam, is it past your bedtime?" Frankie's cutting remark was delivered with the goodwill of a close, and well-honed friendship.

Adam sent him a withering glance. "Well sho' enough," he drawled. "I usually head from the dinner table straight to my bed." When Peter's and his wife Angela's eye popped open in response, he refined his comment. "I haven't really become a complete hermit, but Frankie thinks anyone who turns in before midnight is uncivilized. Ranch work starts at dawn, so it does require an earlier hour of repose."

Peter flashed a quick look towards his wife. "Speaking of your ranch; Frankie has mentioned how magnificent it is every time we've been together since we arrived in San Francisco for rehearsals. I was wondering if Angie and I might stop in Virginia City on our way back to New York? I saw on the map that we were close by when our stage passed through Carson City on the way here."

"The Cartwrights would be honored. Do you have a date in mind?"

"I have two weeks of concerts here, and then a one-time performance in Sacramento. With rehearsals and a few travel days, I'd say about a month."

"There'll be a small charge for the stay." Adam's odd remark was accompanied by a sly smile. "I'd like you to play for my father. We won't have time to get back here before you leave, but I know he'd be most grateful to hear one or two of your Bach, Handel or Haydn pieces."

"I'd be honored," Peter replied with sincerity. "I can't wait to meet the man who did all the things you used to tell us about at school."

The waiter's arrival stopped conversation while the group ordered a light meal and drinks, and then turned towards their professions.

"Do you regret not working more in your field of study?" Peter asked Adam.

Frankie managed to speak first. "Adam always says that the Ponderosa has the finest outhouses in the West because of his engineering."

"Frankie," Adam cautioned before joining his friend in laughter. "I've designed several things for the ranch, but I do projects for an engineering firm at home whenever I can spare the time, and I come to San Francisco in the winter to help Frankie."

Angela had kept quiet as the men reconnected, but she finally broke in. "Frankie took us on a tour when we first arrived, and showed us the various buildings his company has done." She sent Frankie a sweet, and knowing smile. "As much as he teases you, Adam, he was truthful in pointing out the lovely buildings that bear his company's name, but your designs. He claims he's good at business while you possess the creative touch."

Adam grinned. "I wouldn't say Frankie is that good at business either, but I thank him for his kind words."

Angie giggled at the give-and-take between the old friends. "You two are terrible! I remember these same types of conversations back in Boston".

"I admire both of you," Peter confessed. "You create things that are solid and usable."

"You create emotion!" Adam said forcefully. "I wish I could make people feel about my work the way I feel about yours as you perform. You may not have written the pieces you play, but your interpretation makes them immortal: eternal. The buildings Frankie and I design and build will crumble or be torn down one day to be replaced by something newer and more functional. You extend a creation onward into time."

"Thanks, Adam," Peter replied in a quiet voice. "My one hope is that one day I can compose a piece that leaves my mark along this 'eternal path' you speak of."

"That will come with time, my love." Angie focused on her husband and gently took his hand. "For now, it's as Adam said, you make us _feel_ each note you play."

Their meals arrived and the conversation waned as they ate, until Adam looked up and found Frankie staring at him again.

"What's the matter?" he asked as he removed his large linen napkin from his lap, tucked it into his collar and unfurled in over his chest like a bib. "Are you afraid I'll get soup on your fancy clothes?"

"If you do, I'll just send you a bill. You know, though … I do wonder why you always look better in my clothes than I do."

Angie sent a questioning look at both men. "You share your clothes?"

"Only sometimes." Frankie laughed. "Adam needs to order special-made clothes to accommodate his long arms and torso, and so do I. He even leaves a suit at my house so he doesn't have to pack it when he comes over, but he still doesn't own formal attire. He doesn't need it to attend barn dances and church socials at home. In return he lends me the hardier clothing I need when I visit the ranch. Back in our schooldays, my mother was always sending my clothes for him to use so he didn't have to buy things he'd only use once."

"She did that because she knew I couldn't _afford_ to buy things like that, but she was too kind to speak the truth. Besides, she liked me better than Frankie."

Frankie nodded and looked directly at Angie. "Back then, the joke was that Adam was the son my father had always wanted."

"That's awful!" the young woman said sympathetically, reaching over to pat his hand, even while grinning.

"I took no offense. Frank senior admired Adam's hard work and character, and he would have adopted him if he could have. When Mother found out that his mother had passed away, she pulled him under her wings, just like a mother hen."

"That she did," Adam agreed with a nod and smile. "I miss your folks greatly, Frankie."

Frankie nodded and grew silent for a moment. "I miss them too. But … back to the sad story of being replaced in my mother's heart …" He winked quickly at Adam. "Any time you saw Adam attending a party at our house, he was wearing my clothes."

Adam nodded. "I think his mother encouraged Frankie to have parties just so she could see how the outfits she bought for him really should look, by having me wear them. I can't use Frankie's hats though. He's got an extremely tiny head."

"You've got that wrong," Frankie countered. "Your head's gigantic … and made of granite."

Angie shook her head and sighed. "You too never give up, but I love you both." She and Peter Fleming had both grown up in Boston, and they'd been sweethearts from their teenage year. She'd attended the parties Frankie had given, and she'd spent time with the same group of friends during special events on campus. "There's something I meant to say if I saw you, Adam. Give me a minute to remember." She squinted as her face drew into a pucker until she cried out and clapped her hands together. "Got it! Peter and I were in Boston for a concert early this year, and we saw Melinda there; you know who I mean; the pretty young woman who was with you at all the parties during your college years."

"Was she with her husband?" Adam asked casually, while holding his breath for the answer.

"She's single, but she was with Roger Stein that night. The gossip we heard when they walked in together, was that she'd been tapped to become _Mrs_. Roger Stein." The disclosure made Angie grimace and shiver.

"But that wasn't true," Peter interjected. "We stayed with our families for a week afterwards, and heard that wasn't going to happen. Everyone figured that someone talked to Melinda about Roger's proclivities. The sad thing is that Roger is a pig among men, and I wouldn't want anyone I know to marry him. Yet the gossip of her refusal contained the hint that she's too picky, and a cold fish who's becoming an old maid."

Adam's napkin hit his plate with such force, his fork flew to the floor. "Perhaps people should keep their ugly thoughts to themselves. There is nothing cold about Melinda, and if she doesn't want to marry, that's her business. I've never understood why men like Frankie and me, who remain single, are spoken of as bachelors or career-minded men, but women are thought of as being flawed or finicky because they don't settle for a bad marriage."

Peter nodded. "I agree with you, Adam. I was telling you what I'd heard, not what I think. She seems to be doing just fine."

"I mentioned we were coming out this way, and that we might get to see you," Angie said, gauging Adam's reaction to her comment. "She said to give you her regards if we did."

Peter stood suddenly, pushing his chair back as he waved towards a couple entering the restaurant. "It's the head of the foundation that arranged for me to play here," he explained. "I need to go over for a few minutes." He looked at Frankie. "He was asking about you before the concert. Come along and say hello."

Adam was caught in an unexpected whirlwind of memories he'd safely stowed away. It had taken only the mention of her name, and his protective response to the rumors about her, to take him back to the day they'd said goodbye. He'd been headed home, and Melinda was going to fulfill her dream of a college education. But they'd vowed to meet as soon as she was done, and go ahead with an engagement and marriage. There'd also been vows of daily letters to connect them across time and miles.

Neither of those vows had been kept—at least not by Melinda. Not one letter had come from her. The daily notes _he'd_ sent at first, were never answered, and in time he'd had to wonder if she'd lied about loving him. That part was still hard to believe, but something had allowed that love to be quickly forgotten. He'd thought about asking his grandfather or Frankie's parents to talk with her, but he refused to accept a third-party response … or excuse. He'd ask her directly … if he ever saw her again.

His memories strengthened, making him recall the way her hair smelled like a sunny day. He instinctively ran his tongue across his lower lip to taste the sweetness of her kiss that had always remained. Their romance had been loving, and produced heat and intensity that left them wanting more, yet agreeing they would postpone the ultimate intimacies until marriage. They'd both had promises and goals to fulfill before they could be together in that way. Yet, just thinking of her, warmed his skin and reawakened the absolute love he'd had for her. He inserted his finger inside the stiff collar to create a draft of air on his reddening neck, and was startled back to the present when he felt a hand on his arm.

"You still love her." Angie said softly, as she slid her chair closer. "I watched the emotions play across your face just now, and it's obvious. You should know that Melinda's casual words about 'losing touch' with you, didn't match her red cheeks, rapid breathing or the tears pooling in her eyes with the mere mention of your name either. She still loves you too." She gripped his forearm. "I don't know what happened to separate you, but it has to be some sort of unexplained misunderstanding that you each think the other is responsible for. But something's absolutely wrong about it, and you're both too stubborn to be the first to ask what. I always thought you were a couple who would be eternal in the way you described Peter's music."

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, neither confirming nor denying her hypothesis.

Angie scooted even closer. "Peter said _someone_ warned Melinda about Roger. It was me. I know Roger's sister well, and I'd talked with her on the same day I saw Melinda. She confided that Roger got one of their maids in a family way, and his father insisted he stop making a fool of himself and his family, and find a wife. She said honestly that Roger is not husband material. He's careless and wild and that won't change because he marries. His wife will be doomed to a lonely, miserable life."

Adam finally looked at his companion. "Had Melinda truly considered marrying him?"

Angie's laugh rose to the crystal stars above them. "Never. I got her away to the lady's' lounge at intermission. She said she was only accompanying Roger as a favor to his mother, who she'd come to know through the man who's publishing her book. It was a one-time thing meant to give Roger some respectability in their circle of friends for the evening." Angie giggled. "Melinda showed me the satin muff she'd brought along, and said she intended to keep her hands stuffed inside so he couldn't even touch her."

Her feminine laugh rose again before she sighed. "Melinda is doing well, Adam. She tried teaching in Boston when she graduated. But she was so disheartened by the methods demanded at those schools, she quit and wrote her own teaching manual based on the ways she helped children learn when she was a governess. It's being receiving with acclaim. That publisher I mentioned, is sending her on a country-wide tour to give seminars. She was so excited about that."

"That sounds like my Melinda!" Adam's smile was warm, but short-lived.

"'Your' Melinda also said she will never marry simply to deflect rumor mongering. She says she has high expectations in a husband and she'll hold out for the best."

Adam's, "Good girl," was whispered for his ears alone as Peter and Frankie returned with the symphony patron.

"You remember my wife, Angela," Peter began. "And this is …

"I know Mr. Cartwright very well," the older man told the gregarious violinist as he cut off the introduction. "Adam and his father are generous sponsors of the orchestra and the arts in San Francisco." He winked at Adam. "I saw you over here with Frankie and Peter, and was wondering if I might persuade the three of you to sing some of the Harvard drinking songs I've heard about. The crowd has thinned to those who were at the concert, and I'm sure they'd all enjoy it."

After finishing a rendition of _When I Drain the Rosy Bowl_, Adam checked the clock, again surprised that two-hours had passed since their arrival. The restaurant was encouraging the remaining patrons to call it a night, and despite Frankie's invitation to continue the party at his home, Adam needed to end the evening now. His plans for this new day, included trying to fit the errands planned for an entire week into eight business hours.

He did quick handshakes and goodbyes, ending with a promise to see Frankie on the next trip to the coast, and making sure Peter had all the information he needed to contact him with the date for their visit. His final farewell was to Angie, including a quick peck to her cheek and whisper of his thanks for their conversation.

It took only minutes for Adam to make the solo walk back to the Occidental, but he wasn't alone. The news of Melinda's success and confidence made him happy—or at least not unhappy. She had already been documenting which of her ideas worked well with the two boys she was teaching at the time they'd been together, and she'd talked of compiling these in a book one day, to help others facing students who needed a spark to light their love of learning. He was genuinely glad to hear this had become reality.

"Some bull of the woods I am," he muttered to himself as he neared their suite entrance. He'd recently taken on all comers who'd challenged his authority when his father was down—had fought half his crew on a pile of logs to prove he had the physical strength to back his verbal claim of being in charge. Yet now he felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. What Angie had said was true: he'd banked his love for Melinda; had tamped it down, but never completely extinguished the embers. It had only taken the air produced by saying her name to start things smoldering. The truth he'd denied for nearly 11 years, was that he wanted to be at her side watching her succeed, cheering her on through the good times and holding her when things weren't as clear. Hearing about it second-hand made his heart ache with the same ferocity as it had when her promised letters hadn't come.

He stopped to take a deep breath before inserting the key in the lock and stepping into the dimly lit sitting room. The key slipped through his fingers, bounced on the rug and shot under a table when he noted the outline of a figure sitting off in the shadows. His hand instinctively went for his Colt, finding only the smooth fabric of the expensive slacks.

Adam relaxed and chuckled as his eyes adjusted to the low light, allowing him to recognize the "intruder's" familiar shape.

"What are you doing up so late, Hoss? I hope you weren't worried about me."

"We saw you in that restaurant when we was comin' back, so I knew you were fine."

"You should have joined us. You already know Frankie, and Peter and his wife are a lot of fun." Adam's fatigue was returning as he fought to remember something. "They're going to visit the Ponderosa when they head home, so you'll meet them then."

The stiff collar and bowtie skidded onto the table beside the couch. "Boy that feels good," Adam said while scrubbing at the irritated skin around his neck where they'd been. "So, what _are_ you doing up?"

Hoss' cheeks rose to high color. "I went to bed soon as we got back, but then I got to feelin' poorly. It was better sitting up than layin' down."

"Are you ill?"

'Um, nah …" Hoss stammered. "We stopped at the saloon next door to the show we saw, and there were guys there from the Bar 8 ranch where we've stopped a time or two to fatten our herd before sale. It was fun, until Joe and Trent got the big idea to have a pickled-egg eatin' contest between the two ranches. Guess who had to do the eatin' for our side."

Adam grimaced deeply while sour saliva built in his mouth with the thought of it. "I imagine those sat poorly on the rich food you had at dinner." He received Hoss' sheepish nod. "How many did you get down?"

Hoss laughed. "A dozen. But that was _all_ I was gonna get down, and that big Sherm from the Bar 8 managed one more. Served Joe right to lose his bet after I told him I wasn't up to it."

"Were you drinking beer too?" Adam didn't really have to ask; Hoss usually drank beer. Another sorrowful nod confirmed it. "Brine, bubbles, and buttery sauce would make a nasty brew in your gut."

"It weren't bad at first. I fell asleep just fine and then sort of belched in my sleep and lordy, I woke up thinkin' my stomach had burned a hole straight through to the outside." He laughed at himself. "You can't tell Joe this, but I actually pulled up my nightshirt to check that my innards weren't spilled out."

Adam tried not to laugh, but as he pictured Hoss checking out his abdomen, expecting his intestines to be slithering out onto the sheets, he began laughing. "I'm sorry you were in so much discomfort, but you will never know how much I needed to hear that story. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah, but I'm sorta scared to lay back down."

"I always bring bicarbonate of soda on these trips, especially if there's a chance of seeing Frankie, who tends towards French food and dark wines. It's a deadly combination for me. I'll mix some up for you."

"I'd appreciate that, but hang on a minute." Hoss sat forward and sipped at the glass of water he was holding. "I saw that look on yer face when you walked in just now. Seemed like you had a big weight sittin' on yer heart."

Adam blew a breath and stretched out his legs, getting more comfortable as he formed an answer. "I had a good time. But the reminiscing that was interesting and fun while we were together, left some things laying heavy on the way back here."

Hoss watched his brother's eyes as he'd answered. "There's more to that answer, just like when you was holdin' back at dinner tonight. When we spotted you in that restaurant tonight, you was singin' for a bunch of people. You was laughin' so hard at the end, you tossed yer head back to take a gulp of air." He paused to make sure the statement wasn't causing any defensiveness. "I ain't ever seen you smile that big or laugh like that at home, or at least not lately. I don't want you to take no offense in what I'm gonna ask next, cuz it's just a question. I'm wonderin' if what I saw might show that you had some regrets about comin' back to the ranch after you finished school, and them friends reminded you of what you gave up to be wranglin' steers and fixin' fences."

Adam sat up straight and then rested forward on his knees as memories from the last eleven years raced through his mind. He hadn't expected anyone to be up when he'd arrived at the suite, and therefore he hadn't disguised his emotions. It wouldn't have mattered if Joe had been up; he wouldn't have noticed. But Hoss always picked up on the moods of his family—especially those of his older brother. This brother not only understood the emotions Adam tried to hide, but he seemed able to feel them too.

As usual, Hoss had seen straight into Adam's heart. He may have attributed the wrong set of circumstances to what he'd seen, but he was dead-on in it concerning regret that had resurfaced during the time with old friends. After some thought, Adam decided he could answer Hoss's question truthfully.

"I made the decision to go East for school knowing how much I would leave behind to realize a dream. Letters from home, Abel, and the friends I made, kept me going when I was out there. I came home eagerly when I was done because I belonged here. In both instances I had to balance what I was leaving behind with what I would gain. I missed all of you when I was there, and my Boston family when I got back here, but there was no regret to those choices. I might head out on my own again one day, but I'll make sure I do that without regret too."

"Then why _did_ you look so sad?"

"I'm tired for one thing. I enjoyed recalling good memories, but Peter also shared news of classmates who have died or aren't doing well in their lives or careers. He spoke of the war out there and the loss and grief it's bringing to both sides." He sighed deeply. "It also brought to mind those I've lost touch with, and—" Adam stood abruptly. "I'll get that bicarb ready."

**Six**

Good weather and speed were keeping the Cartwright brothers' stage on schedule. They'd assisted in this by lending a hand hitching up new teams at the way stations. They were eager to do it since it kept downtime to a minimum, while affording frequent physical activity to ease the stiffness of sitting in a coach for long hours over three days.

On the other hand, there were some uncomfortable elements to this trip that overshadowed any good things. The coach was sold out. Six passengers under normal circumstances made for a cramped ride in an Overland coach. A full stage with the Cartwright boys was beyond cramped. Hoss recognized that his size used enough space for two people, and since this stage was carrying no valuables requiring a second employee up-top, he elected to ride shotgun with the driver. Adam switched with him at times for the fresh air, and to give Hoss a chance to lean his head back for a quick snooze.

The main discomfort for all three brothers was that they'd begun the journey in less than fine physical condition. The cramped quarters, abbreviated rest periods along the way and the constant swaying of their coach didn't lend well to recovery either.

This state of health was entirely their fault, so they couldn't even complain. After spending their final day in San Francisco getting railroad information and checking beef prices, Adam had honored his promise of heading to the seemlier part of the unseemly docks, where they'd filled up on seafood and spent the remainder of the night drinking and singing bawdy sailor songs. They'd gotten back to the hotel with enough time to pack before heading to the Overland office for a 5:00 AM departure.

The remainder of Adam's bicarbonate mixture was gone by the end of the first day as they all tried to keep their stomach contents from ending up on the shoes of their fellow passengers. Adam and Little Joe had dozed at first, but sleeping with their heads back while swinging and bouncing, left both of them feeling even more seasick.

Adam was pretty sure he'd been snoring … or worse during his periods of rest, since he'd been met with judgmental stares whenever he'd come to and adjusted his position. Sadly, the amount of liquor still in his system when they'd left San Francisco was strong enough to flood the entire compartment with its stale odor each time he'd belch—even though he'd covered his mouth with a handkerchief—hoping it would serve as both a filter and volume control for the escaping bolus of air. It was not in his nature to be such an uncouth traveler or to subject his coach-mates to the results of his all-night debauchery. But that night at the docks, he'd allowed his control to slip away. The more he drank, the louder he sang, and the boisterous caterwauling had tucked memories of Melinda in his back pocket for a while. He'd known that drinking was a short-term fix, not meant to help him forget her. That was impossible. His excessive consumption simply relieved the sting.

The stage was finally on its last leg to Virginia City, making Adam sigh with relief. Three days of incarceration in a bouncing box, had eventually switched from pure physical misery as the effects of the liquor waned, to purer misery of his mind. Memories had returned along with his sobriety. Unfortunately, his clearing mind hadn't restored equilibrium to his head or stomach, keeping him on the high seas throughout the trip, and removing any possibility of getting lost in a book. Instead he'd mentally walked up-and-down the same dead-end road he found himself on each time Melinda came to mind. The only thing accomplished through his mental exercising, was that it settled things back to a dull ache again.

Once he'd stowed "love and loss" back into the intellectual strongbox he kept for such emotions, he'd found other uncomfortable things to ponder that had been brought up during the abbreviated vacation. If he'd been completely truthful with Hoss, he would have admitted deep regret in leaving Abel Stoddard behind. His set-in-his-ways grandfather did know that he was welcome on the Ponderosa at any time. Adam's granite-like personality had come honestly through a mixture of Stoddard and Cartwright, and he knew deep down that the older man would never leave the sea, even if he now lived next to it rather than on it. Thankfully, by all accounts in the letters from Boston, Abel was doing well.

From those letters, Adam also knew that Melinda's aunt, Abel's long-time neighbor, had passed away, and the young woman had inherited the house. His grandfather was respectful his grandson's privacy, and had never pressed for information from him as to the breakup. In kind, Adam had never requested intercession or discovery on his behalf. Knowing Melinda now lived next door created an interesting situation, but he told himself that his gowing desire for a return trip to Boston was spurred only by the desire to see his grandfather. Even with Abel in good health, there was no guarantee of it continuing. One decision he'd made while bouncing over more than 200 miles, was that he'd take a trip East for a visit as soon as he could work it in.

Peter's question about his career also reemerged to weigh as heavily on his mind, as his night of bad choices in San Francisco weighed on his stomach. In the lonely hours sleeping under stars, and the unending work, he actually _had_ begun to consider taking a more active role as an engineer. He enjoyed watching his ideas and calculations become a solid reality.

In the last year, his brothers had shown they could carry the responsibilities of the ranch. They'd done such a good job on the trestle that he now believed he _could_ divert more time to engineering projects, with them taking up the responsibilities he'd relinquish. Yet it had taken him until he was within miles of home to come up with a feasible plan to present to his father. Now he couldn't wait to forge ahead and planned to discuss it as soon as the air was cleared from the trestle affair.

Adam retracted his leg when he felt a nudge, thinking he'd let his sprawl overtake the space of another passenger, but then grinned when he realized it had originated from Joe.

"I need a soft bed and a two-day rest from my vacation when we get home," the younger man told his brother in mid-yawn.

A nod and sigh were given in agreement. "Luckily we'll be able to head out as soon as we get the wagon from the livery."

As he trotted down the main street, Hop Sing heard the distinct pounding of carriage horses and the solid turn of stagecoach wheels heading towards him. He pulled his mount to a hitching post a few storefronts away from the Western Union office that was located next to the Overland station. Hop Sing could ride well enough, but even this shorter, sturdy horse required him to nearly jump down from the stirrups to dismount. The similarly short, sturdy cook preferred this foal from Enos Millford's Blackie, to the taller saddle-mounts the Cartwrights kept in their pasture. Like his sire, the length of Stubby's legs had no bearing in his swiftness. The black three-year-old made good time, allowing Hop Sing the chance to get a wire out to the Cartwright sons about the dire situation at home, in time for them to catch the evening stage from San Francisco.

Hop Sing's natural curiosity made him pause to watch the debarking passengers from the newly arrived stage. He pulled a wrinkled note from his pocket that his houseguest had penned, and reread the words he knew would cause the sons a load of worry on the long trip home. The paper fluttered to the ground, and he took off at a run when he looked up and saw a familiar black hat and profile exit the stage door.

Relief flooded the cook as he waited for Adam to step to the ground, before rushing forward and grabbing the oldest son's arm.

Adam instinctively yanked his arm away until he could look over to see who was holding on. "Hop Sing!" he said as he followed the cook's pull. "What's wrong?"

Hoss and Joe had seen Adam being led away, and joined the other two men on the boardwalk to witness the excited cook trying to speak; a process made even more unintelligible by his obvious haste to get the words out."

"How you know come home? Father need you. Very sick; you hurry."

Adam had made out enough of the report to make his heart race. He took Hop Sing's shoulders to calm him. "Pa is ill?"

Hop Sing's head bobbed up and down.

Motioning everyone to follow him inside the deserted stage office, Adam sat and pulled Hop Sing into the chair next to him. "Start from the beginning."

A long breath seemed to settle the cook enough to speak more coherently. "All well at first." He pinched his eyes shut. "Wednesday at dinner, he say he, 'under weather,' and go early to bed. Next morning still sick, so I get doctor."

"What does Paul think is wrong?" The question from Hoss.

"Not Paul. He in Genoa with new doctor. This Doc Johnson. He say people sick in town and Mr. Cartwright get better in no time." Hop Sing's head wobbled side-to-side. "But he getting worse. Barely open eyes. No eat. Had to shake hard to wake him up, and this morning he just sleep and not wake up. I come to telegraph you come home!"

"He won't wake up at all?" Adam asked with a distinct tightness in his inflection. "Is Dr. Johnson at the house?"

"No. Mrs. Wallace with him. I come to send wire."

"You got Bertie Wallace to help you?" Hoss asked.

Another quick nod. "I stay with Mr. Cartwright at night, and she stay all day. Doctor stop again today. He say it take time for Mr. Cartwright get better, but I got bad feeling."

"I'll go home on horseback," Joe volunteered.

"Hang on, Joe." Adam stood and paced the length of the room. "I know you want to be with Pa, but it's best if I get out there first to see what's going on, just in case there are decisions to make. I know you care as much for Pa as I do, but the doctor is more likely to listen to the oldest of us. Hopefully I'll get there before he stops in." He turned towards Hop Sing. "Did I see Stubby down the street?"

"Yes."

"I'll ride him. Did you plan to pick up supplies while you were here? Hop Sing gave another nod. "Get those and meet Hoss and Joe at the livery." He strode out the door with Little Joe's protests clinging to him like burs in fall, and was headed home within the minute.

Although he usually commiserated with his younger brother, Hoss ignored Joe's continued cries of foul play, and took control. "How long will it take you, Hop Sing?"

"I hurry."

"Take Little Joe to help carry things, and we'll be outa here in 15 minutes."

**Seven**

The buggy in the yard was the standard for traveling physicians, allowing Adam a thankful breath as he dismounted the black horse and gave him an appreciative pat on the neck. He saw Corky, one of the newer hands, working in the corral, and motioned him over.

"Please wipe Stubby down and get him back out to the pasture," he told the young cowhand. "And please ask Hank to dust the seats on that rig and make sure the horse has water."

Corky shouted, "Sure thing, Mr. Cartwright," as his boss ran towards the house.

With the door shut behind him, Adam noted the stillness inside the large room. He usually enjoyed the quiet of the empty house when his family was away, but this felt different: near ominous in its lack of life. He took the stairs two-at-a-time, recalling the number of times his father had kept vigil at his bedside. As focused as Ben Cartwright was about ranch work, all outside concerns ceased for him when one his children took sick. His father seemed to understand that those long, lonely, sweaty nights fighting off an illness were frightening for kids, and those same kinds of nights hadn't gotten any easier, even when those "boys" had slipped into adulthood.

Adam could count on one hand the number of times his father had been _in_ the sickbed instead of sitting beside it. It was no wonder that his sons had been stymied when he'd slowed to a crawl following the leg injury at the lumber camp. In that instance, Ben Cartwright had preferred to work through his demons alone. A shiver rippled across his back, and he stopped at the top step to consider whether it only "seemed" like his father had healed completely from that injury.

The door to his father's room was ajar, and he stopped for a quick assessment before entering. Bertha Wallace had her shoulders back and her head held high as she spoke to the doctor. Adam could see the stern set of her jaw, and her frequent gestures towards the bed made him wonder why she seemed upset. He remembered Paul telling him that the physicians in Virginia City had invited Dr. Johnson to relocate from Sacramento, when he'd retired from his full-time practice. They'd guaranteed that his duties would be limited to assisting with simple things when the town was short-staffed. Adam had met the man at a reception, but he knew nothing about him. That he was here, indicated the doctors they normally used were unavailable.

Bertie's face brightened when she looked towards the door and saw who was entering. "I'm so relieved to see you, Adam," she exclaimed as she moved to shake his hand and continued into a sturdy hug. "You must have returned early from your trip. Only a miracle would have delivered you this fast after Hop Sing's wire."

He touched her cheek gently. "I'm thankful we shortened our stay, and that Hop Sing thought to have you come out. What's going on with Pa?

Adam nodded an initial greeting towards the doctor as he and Bertie walked towards the bed where the pale man with bright red cheeks, lay tucked under the brilliant white sheets. Adam dropped to one knee and took his father's hand.

"We're all Home, Pa. Hoss and Little Joe will be along in a bit, but I rode out ahead, hoping to catch the doctor." He laid his free hand against his father's cheek feeling the warmth there, and brushed back a graying curl that was matted in the sweat on his temple. "You should have come with us," he said in a stern, but teasing voice. "It seems you got into bigger trouble than we did." Adam turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Dr. Johnson has to get going." Bertie told him.

Adam stood, but when he began to withdraw his hand, he felt a gentle tightening of father's finger around his own. "Pa?" he said hopefully. The grip released, but Adam saw another sign. He could read his father's face like a map. As a boy, he could always tell from the tightness in his father's jaw, whether his infractions had put him in trouble requiring a necessary talk or a gentle explanation of where he'd erred. Over the years, he'd also learned to read his father's looks of pride, confusion, disappointment, and his absolute love for his sons. As he observed his father now, he saw his jaw release its tension, and the hint of a smile pass like a shadow across his lips. Adam didn't question what he'd seen. Ben Cartwright might not be conscious, but he was aware and grateful that his sons were back.

He finally turned to the doctor and shook his hand. "Thank you for coming out. Hop Sing said my father was unwell as early as Wednesday?"

"I was called on Thursday, so I can't attest to when the illness began," the doctor clarified. "Mr. Cartwright has a high fever. His caregivers said they were able to rouse him and make him drink water and broth until last night, but he is deeply asleep now. Yet that is probably a good sign."

Adam's brow crawled up to his hairline. "How can being comatose indicate anything good?"

The doctor pursed his lips and he snorted like an arrogant school teacher speaking down to a student. "Sometimes as a fever worsens, the body shuts down to deal with it. I'd say that's what's happening now."

"What exactly _is_ wrong with him?" Adam's question sounded more like a command.

The disapproving sniff returned. "There are reports of others in town being treated for a fever and malaise. That man who came for me is hard to understand, but I'm pretty sure he said that Mr. Cartwright had been in Virginia City prior to becoming ill. I assume he contracted it there."

"Is this a serious fever … like a flu?"

"My understanding is that the course is limited to a few days."

Adam did a mental calculation. "This is at least the fifth day Pa's been down with this, and by your own statement, his condition is worsening. If others recovered quickly, is it possible that 'this' is _not_ what _they_ had?"

Dr. Johnson's answer was interrupted by the sound of pounding on the sturdy front door below. Bertie offered to answer it, but after another solid knock, they heard the latch open and someone call out.

"Ben!" The loud voice carried up to the bedroom. "It's Harry. Sorry to barge in, but I only have a minute, and thought you'd like to know who was at the door so you can either hurry or hide." A loud, jovial laugh punctuated the introduction.

"That's Harry Forsythe's voice," Adam told the others. "He's one of our lawyers. I'll see what he wants." He looked pointedly at Dr. Johnson. "Please remain until we speak further."

Adam was met with a broad smile as he greeted Harry from the stairs. "What can I do for you?" he asked, hoping to hurry the visit.

"You father came to town last Wednesday with a list of provisions he wanted me to add to the Ponderosa's legal paperwork." Harry showed Adam the large envelope he was holding. "I wrote it up and want him to look it over so I can have it printed." The smile he'd had on his face as he'd spoken dissolved into a confused frown. "I thought you and your brothers were out of town. Ben wanted this ready to sign when you got back."

"We arrived this morning. I'm surprised you didn't see Hoss and Joe in town."

Harry chuckled. "I've been out all day. I get tired of sitting in that office, and sometimes take a day to play deliveryman. It's relaxing." He looked around the room. "Is Ben home? I'd hoped to go through this."

"He's home, but he's not feeling well."

"Ah, that explains the buggy outside." Harry's left cheek rose as his eyebrow dipped. "I wondered if he was all right the day he stopped in."

Adam's desire to be done was instantly replaced by curiosity, "What makes you say that?"

"I thought he was limping when he walked into my office, and he rubbed his leg several times while we spoke. It seemed more that he was in pain, as opposed to being ill though. I watched from the window when he left, and confirmed that he was limping … heavily." He snuffed deeply, like a bear searching for food. "I knew he'd injured his leg a while back, but then I remembered that he wasn't limping when he came in a few weeks ago to set up that trust for Gabe's grandson."

"I'll certainly share what you've told me with the doctor," Adam said as he reached for the envelope. "And I'll have Pa look at these when he's up to it. Thank you for bringing them out."

Harry kept holding on as he looked Adam in the eye. "You just said a lot without saying a thing, Adam. I assume Ben is extremely ill or he'd have told the doctor about the limp himself."

Adam broke eye-contact, looking down. "I know you'll respect Pa's privacy in not mentioning this to others. The truth is that I'm speaking to Dr. Johnson for the first time now. From what I gather, he hasn't a clue as to what's wrong."

A sour grimace rippled across Harry's face. "I heard that Paul Martin is in Genoa, and the other two physicians are running ragged with births and accidents, so the only one left is Johnson." He broke off and tried to smile. "I won't say more since I have no first-hand experience with the man, but ask around town if you want to know more. You're a smart man, Adam; trust your gut on this."

Adam charged back up the steps once Harry was gone and he'd stowed the envelope. He wasn't expecting any change, yet that didn't stop him from hoping. After a quick check on his father, he drew the doctor to the side of the room and motioned for Bertie to follow.

"Harry Forsythe said my father was limping badly when he was in town the day he took ill. I wonder if there's a connection between that and what's happening now?"

Dr. Johnson harrumphed softly. His tone was condescending as he added, "Mr. Cartwright is clearly suffering from a fever, not a sore leg."

Adam's eyebrows began inching upwards again as his fists clenched into balls of iron at his side. "My father suffered a serious leg wound a few months back. That should warrant at least a cursory examination before eliminating the possibility."

"I am aware of that injury, but I was under the impression from others that it wasn't as serious as you make it sound, and since my opinion was not sought at that time, I have to base my findings on what I see _now. _What I see is a man with a fever. Keep him warm and comfortable; apply cool compresses to lower his temperature, and continue offering water and broth whenever you can."

Ben's oldest son lowered his voice, but the crackle of incredulity came through clearly. "What I'm hearing is that your feelings are bruised at not being included in the treatment for my father's initial injury, so you won't consider this alternative to your theory—even when Pa's recovery doesn't seem to fit what you said is 'going around.'"

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth, young man!" the doctor hissed back. "This is a fever: nothing more. The slower recovery is related to Mr. Cartwright being elderly."

Adam's breath was coming in snorts reminiscent of a bull readying its charge. He maintained emotional control to keep from saying more than he intended, but his words were delivered with the sharpness of a well-honed blade. "My father is not … elderly! He's barely in his 50's; he takes care of himself and puts in as many hours of hard labor as we do. He is seldom sick. The fact that he is, _and_ that he's worsening instead of improving, should scare the wits out of you."

The disparaging look returned. "It would do no good to go poking around for things that aren't causing this, when I know what _is." _The old doctor nodded towards Bertie Wallace. "You know what to do while you wait for the fever to pass. Go about your business, Mr. Cartwright, and before you know it, your father will be up and ordering his grown sons around like before."

He let the offensive comment about his family go without rebuttal. What Adam needed now was for this man to be gone so he could figure out what to do. "I'll hope for that to happen soon." The smile he offered was disingenuous, but Doctor Johnson's slight nod and look of self-satisfaction proved he didn't notice. Or maybe, Adam reasoned, the man was simply as anxious to leave as Adam was to have him gone.

The hospitality Ben Cartwright insisted be followed in his home prompted Adam to escort Dr. Johnson to his carriage, and ask if he needed anything. With this formality completed he returned again to his father's room to find Bertie grinning like a contented bulldog.

"You seem as unimpressed with our physician as I am," she said as he neared the bed. "His theory about this 'thing' in town made sense at first, until Ben kept getting sicker. In fact, I was trying to make that man understand that this isn't moving like a fever of some passing illness, when you walked in earlier."

"Did he ever do a full examination? I'm talking about pulling the covers down and checking for ticks, bites, an infected cut … anything else that might indicate a more serious condition?"

"He listened to Ben's heart, checked his pulse and felt his forehead, before declaring it, 'the fever' going around." Bertie crossed her arms and leaned solidly into her left hip as she shook her head.

"You don't agree."

"It's a fever all right. But it's worsening in a way I've only seen in people fighting off infections."

"Help me with the covers," he told her while moving to the opposite side of the bed. They pulled everything down to the footboard and Adam came back around to slide the red-striped nightshirt up to reveal his father's legs. Laying a hand over the scar, he gave Bertie a questioning look. "His leg feels very warm, but not more than his face and hand."

Bertie grabbed the lamp from the bedside table and held it over the milky scar. She placed her hand next to Adam's, noting the warmth. "Bend his knee up a little," she directed. Her frown deepened as she gently applied pressure on the tissue to either side of the scar, and continued doing so until she reached Ben's calf. "Watch your father's face while I check back here."

Adam saw the upward draw of his father's lips when pressure was applied. "He grimaced!" he told Bertie. Another soft touch produced the same response.

Bertie's worried look mirrored Adam's. "What does that mean?" he asked as his heart pounded in his throat.

"It means we need Paul!" Bertie spoke with quiet urgency.

"Give me a second to figure this out." Adam looked around the room. "It's stuffy in here. Let's crack a window, and cover him with just the sheet and a blanket. I always feel like I'm suffocating when there's a lot of covers and I'm hot with a fever. We'll notice if he gets chilly." He was prattling and he knew it, but his nerves were sputtering like a lit fuse on a stick of TNT.

Bertie went to join Adam at the opened window after hearing voices and wheels rumbling in the yard and said, "It's Hoss and Joe!"

Adam had never been happier to see his brothers. He reached around Bertie's shoulders to pull her closer. "Let's go talk to them. I've got a plan."

**Eight**

The chair at the head of the Cartwright dining table seemed ominously empty as the three sons picked at their dinners. Adam pushed his half-eaten meal away and filled his coffee cup.

"You two were with Pa most of the afternoon," Adam said to get his brothers' attention. "Did you see any improvement?"

"Pa sort of grunted once when I tried wakin' him, but he slipped back off," Hoss offered.

"Bertie and I sat him up once and she put a teaspoon of water in his mouth. It just dribbled back out." Joe's horrified look gave testimony to his fear.

"Do you think he's worse or holding his own?" Adam asked

Hoss and Joe exchanged a long look, with Hoss finally saying, "It's like he's lost somewhere. I even saw what looked like a smile once, but it didn't last. Bertie thinks the fever is a little higher." He snorted a soft laugh. "She says she's got the most sensitive hand in the West, and can tell whether a person's temperature is going up or down with a touch."

Adam chuckled too. "I'd believe her. At least we know Paul will be here tomorrow."

The brothers had gotten back to the ranch only six hours earlier, but working together they'd managed to accomplish a lot. Hoss found out what needed to be taken care of on the ranch, and got the men set up for those jobs, while Adam and Joe worked out a plan to get Paul Martin on his way to the Ponderosa.

Joe hadn't wanted to leave his father, but he'd ridden back to town to send a telegram to Genoa where Paul was working. While waiting for a reply, he'd gone to the saloons to ask whether any of the patrons had experienced the fever the doctor had mentioned. No one had been sick, but he did hear several off-color opinions as to the skill of Dr. Johnson.

Once Paul answered the wire, Little Joe nearly flew home where he and Adam chose two ranch hands to head out with a two-horse carriage. There was only one road between the Ponderosa and Genoa, and they were charged with going as far as they could before nightfall. The plan was to intercept Paul when he came through in the morning. One of them would bring him the rest of the way far more quickly with a rested team instead of using Paul's one poky nag. Paul's telegram had confirmed he'd leave before dawn, so with some luck and skillful driving, they'd have him to the ranch by late afternoon.

"So … what should we do now?" Hoss asked.

"I have a suggestion." Adam looked from one brother to the other. "We've told Bertie to relax tonight, and you two have done a lot more physical work today. It might be best if you two stay with Pa this evening. I'll sleep a couple of hours, and then handle the night. Hoss mentioned things that have to get done for the ranch tomorrow, so you two get started on that after breakfast. Bertie can take over in the morning; I'll sleep a little more, and help you out after that." He held his breath waiting for the dissention he thought was sure to come.

"That makes sense, Older Brother." The agreement came from Little Joe. "I'll sleep better if I spend time with Pa beforehand."

The darkness in his room was disorienting, leaving Adam unsure what time of night it was. As his eyes adjusted, he sat up on the side of his bed and stretched. Light from the hallway shown under his door, but he heard nothing to indicate that anyone was moving around. He raised the wick on his bedside lamp and checked the time on his pocket watch.

The water in his pitcher was cold, but it felt good as he splashed some from the bowl to his whisker-roughed cheeks. He'd shave and bathe lather; now he just wanted to wake up more. He hadn't bothered to get undressed for his nap, so he added his belt and boots and headed towards his father's room.

Joe's voice drifted towards him in the hall, and he stopped briefly to listen. He couldn't make out every word, but he was pretty sure his brother was reading from Psalms. He stepped quietly into the room and received a worried smile from Joe.

"You should have gotten me up sooner," Adam told him. "You look exhausted."

"Well, so did you when you turned in. I would have had come for you if I'd gotten too sleepy. Hoss went to bed an hour ago, but I wasn't quite ready."

"Any change?" Adam asked.

Joe's head moved horizontally. "I've been keeping a cool compress on his head, and at one point he started to shiver, so I added his quilt. But that passed a while ago, and now he seems … restless. That's why I was reading from the Bible. He always does that at night, so I thought it might calm him."

Ben jerked violently, confirming Joe's assessment. Adam used the back of his hand to feel his father's forehead and sighed. "I wish I had Bertie's magic hand, but I'd say he's at least as hot or even worse since I checked before turning in." He looked around the room to see if he had everything he needed before sending Joe to bed. The pitcher nearly flew from his hand as he gave it a mighty lift, expecting it to be heavier. "I'll run down for more water. Hopefully there's still some coffee warming on the stove."

His hope for coffee became a reality as he neared the bottom of the steps. While Hop Sing was absent from the kitchen, his care for this family was evident. A fresh pot of coffee was producing the enticing aroma flooding the lower level of the house, and plates of sandwiches and sweets were on the table, covered with fresh towels.

Adam pumped enough water to fill the pitcher, and then filled the enameled coffee pot from the larger one on the stove. He grabbed a tray to hold both receptacles and added glasses, a cup, and a plate with a sandwich and cookies. His path back to the stairway stopped as he neared the settee, and he diverted towards the desk to retrieve the envelope Harry had delivered, tucking it under the tray.

"I know you wanted whatever's in here to be a surprise, Pa," he said quietly. "But if you started something that could affect how you want the ranch to be run … in case … then we should know what you had in mind."

Joe was at the end of the bed folding back the quilt when Adam returned. "I guess he doesn't need this anymore," he said, looking over his shoulder.

"I'll keep an eye out for chills," Adam promised. "Hop Sing put some things out if you're hungry. None of us ate much at supper. I didn't even realize how hungry I was until I saw it there."

"That sounds good. My stomach's been rumbling for the last hour." The youngest Cartwright stretched before leaning down to tell his father goodnight, and then saluting Adam.

"Goodnight, Joe. I'll come get you if there's any change. And …" He paused until Joe looked back at him from the door. "Pa would have been proud of how well you handled yourself today. You've really grown up; I'm sorry I forget that sometimes."

"Thanks, Adam. Goodnight."

The water being wrung from the cloth sounded like a sudden rain shower in Ben's room. Adam shook the cloth from its rumpled form and folded it to a rectangle before dabbing at the feverish man's sweaty cheeks, and placing the cool rag on his father's forehead.

"I'm with you now, Pa," he said softly, while pulling a chair closer to the bed. "Little Joe and Hoss are getting some shuteye." He thought about what he and Bertie had discovered earlier and stood again to fold the covers back. "You'll feel a little chilly while I check your leg."

Since the earlier pressure Bertie had applied caused pain, he refrained from doing any manual checking. Bertie had been helping the ill for as long as Adam could remember, and he always quizzed Paul about what he was doing whenever he could. Yet the only conclusion this pair of amateur doctors had made, was that the pain meant something. Bertie's suggestion of an infection or blood clot made good sense, but while there was pain, there were no obvious markers of an infection. The other possibility they'd discussed was that perhaps Dr. Johnson was right: Ben had simply strained the muscles doing ranch work, making the fever and the leg unrelated.

Adam grabbed the lamp from the table and raised the flame to make a visual examination. He'd had a wound in a similar location after taking an arrow in his calf, and this looked nothing like that. His leg had been hot, swollen, streaked with red, and had shown obvious signs of infected tissue. He leaned in closer. The skin seemed a little tight across the calf, but nothing else "looked" wrong. He sighed deeply as he replaced the lamp and covers.

The restlessness Joe had noted continued as Ben rolled his head side-to-side—at times so hard, his shoulders rose from the mattress. Another sigh issued from the caregiving son: deeper and more forceful this time. This was followed by a low, deep chuckle. "How many times did you feel as exasperated as I do right now, when one of us was sick?" he asked the patient. The frown he'd had since beginning his vigil began to lift as he came to a conclusion. "My guess is that you've been on your back since you first took to bed, and you need a change of scenery."

Ben usually slept on his side, so Adam went around to kneel on the opposite edge of the bed. Slipping his arms under his father's shoulders and hips, he pulled him over a foot or two and stuck two pillows on the far side of the mattress, to prevent the poor man from rolling onto his face … or the floor when he was turned.

It wasn't a graceful operation, but he managed to get his father comfortably positioned, well-supported by pillows under his arm and legs, with more behind to keep from rolling backwards. The effect was immediate. His father's breathing evened, and the constant, near-grimace relaxed.

There were times when keeping a sick-bed vigil called for "being present," as Joe had been doing by reading. But with Ben resting, Adam decided quiet was the better choice. He poured a cup of the still-warm coffee, and enjoyed his snack.

He'd forgotten about the envelope until he moved the tray to get at a book on the back of the dresser. The flap wasn't sealed, so Adam withdrew the sheets and moved his chair closer to the lamp. The initial pages of the printed legal document weren't new. They constituted the original description of the family business. Adam had helped set it up shortly after returning from school, but he doubted his brothers had ever seen the actual papers that declared them quarter-share owners of the Ponderosa.

He recalled his father's desire to establish legal boundaries as the business had taken off, and this document had solved two important issues. The first was to separate the homestead property from the business they conducted. This ensured that a failure in their cattle or timber enterprises, wouldn't put their home up for creditors—or at least not at first. The second part divided the Ponderosa lands and business assets. Each of them held a quarter with the whole being re-divided among the survivors in the event of a death. Adam knew his father also had a will that divided his personal assets: investments made with his own funds rather than as ranch purchases.

He continued to page through until he came to Harry's hand-written draft of what would be added. A warm smile spread across his face as it became clear what these new provisions would do. His smile grew even more when he reached a final separate document that condensed the additional items into an easily understood directive.

The conclusions drawn in the discussions he'd had with his brothers in San Francisco, were all addressed legally in this new document. It had been a rough few months as they'd fulfilled the railroad contract, but Adam now understood that it had initiated changes that would improve how his family worked.

His satisfied smile disappeared as another thought presented. He'd intended to speak to his father about taking more engineering work. But it was clear now that if his brothers were to be given more training and responsibility, his absence from ranch work would need to be delayed. It both tugged at his soul and made him excited that one day, if he chose to, he could do as he'd told Hoss: move to a life separate from the Ponderosa without regrets.

He moved his chair back to the bedside, still holding the document. "I know you wanted this as a surprise, Pa, but you'll be pleased to know that your sons are in full agreement with your solution." There was no indication of his comment being heard, but Adam could often remember what was said to him even when in the darkest throes of illness.

He paged through the addendums again. The points included were advisories to anyone doing business with the Cartwrights that each son held equal ownership. In that capacity, they each had the right to manage, make decisions, sign contracts and distribute funds. The one thing they couldn't do was sell property or assets. This was unlikely to happen, but the Ponderosa was a magnet for those trying to get something through scams and underhanded deals that "sounded" too good to be true.

Harry's notation on the separate sheet, indicated the document would be included as part of future contracts, alerting their clients of Hoss, Joe and Adam's authority to step in, regardless of who'd made the deal. Adam nodded. "This looks good, Pa: really good."

Ben's restlessness returned a few hours later prompting another position change. While it reduced his indications of discomfort, it didn't produce a return to deep sleep, so Adam slipped out to grab his guitar.

He'd already played parts of several classical pieces and some of Ben's folk favorites, when the door creaked open, and a rumple-haired, droopy eyed Hoss entered: barefoot and in his nightshirt.

He stood a minute as Adam played the final chord of the song, and said, "That sure was purdy."

Adam turned to the new arrival. "I'm sorry I woke you. I thought music might be more soothing than my voice tonight."

"I didn't even know you was playin' til I got here. I just woke up and decided to check on Pa." Hoss yawned and smacked his lips. "How's he doin'?"

"Mostly the same, but he seems more uncomfortable. Maybe it's just that he's tired of laying around. But I think it's more that whatever's going on in his leg is bothering him so much already, it's affecting his ability to rest. His leg looks the same though, so it's all conjecture. I hope Paul gets an early start today."

Hoss pulled a chair over and sat next to his brother. "What was that you was playin? I ain't never heard anything like that on a guitar."

"It was part of a Handel violin concerto."

"What kind'a violin has a handle?" Hoss' cheek rose as thought about it.

It took great control not to laugh, but Adam knew Hoss was still half-asleep. "Let me rephrase that. It was a violin concerto by Handel … the composer. Pete, the violinist I saw in San Francisco, sends me violin scores for some of the compositions he thinks I can manage, and adapts it to the guitar. A violin and guitar are in the same key, so it works."

"You might as well be talking in French, Adam," Hoss confessed. "I don't know nothin' about music … or French." He leaned forward to touch his father's hand. "Whatever yer doin' seems to be makin' him look peaceful."

"I've been playing Pa's favorite composers. I'm not as good at these as I wish, but I manage."

"I sure do wish I knew a way to soothe him like that, but I ain't got much in the talent department."

"You sing well." Adam's comment was sincere.

"Not as good as you."

"I've had voice training, but you carry a tune just fine." He thought a minute. "You know songs from church. I'll play one of those hymns and you can sing softly."

"I may sing at church, but I don't know the words without the book," Hoss admitted with a blush.

"Just hum. That might be even better." Adam played a few chords to remind himself of the song he had in mind. "How about _Rock of Ages_?" With a nod from his brother, he began to pick the melody in an introduction, and then said, "Start humming."

Once Hoss was handling the melody with assurance, Adam added in harmony. They repeated the song a few more times before Hoss stopped and stared at his brother; his eyes pooling with tears.

"Do you think Pa's gonna make it, Adam? I ain't never seen him so sick. He's getting' paler and I swear he's shrinking."

"Pa's a strong man, and you know he won't give up without a long, hard fight! Paul's on his way, and if he can determine what's really wrong, then he'll get Pa on the right course."

"But…" Hoss sighed heavily. "Don't you get the sick feelin' that Doc Johnson might'a waited too long without gettin' help? He should'a asked one of the other docs to come out with him. I wonder if Pa'll even make it til Doc Martin gets here, or if it'll be too late to do anything?" Hoss' look was mournful.

"In our times, it's a real possibility that we can get sick or injured without being able to recover. Things have advanced a lot concerning medicine, yet there are times when even a very good doctor can't figure out what's wrong, or they don't have the means or medicines to fix it yet. All we can do is pray for God's help to stay the course, and His graciousness in allowing us or those we love, a return to health." He turned to look directly at Hoss. "We should also pray for the strength to handle whatever happens."

Adam laid his guitar on his lap and leaned forward onto it. "The talks we had in San Francisco assured me that you and Joe are fully capable of running this ranch with me if the need arises, and you'll take over completely one day should I be gone. No matter what happens, Pa's legacy will continue."

Hoss' blink sent a shower of moisture down one cheek. "You make sense, Brother, but I'm no better at prayin' than singin'." He wiped the tears away with his nightshirt sleeve. "There are some songs from church that I can remember, cuz singin' the words feels like I'm prayin'. One of them is, _What a Friend We Have in Jesus_. Do ya think you can pluck that one out?" He offered a one-sided smile, and concluded, "And how about for now, we believe that Pa'll be fine."

Adam smiled back and nodded before replacing the guitar on his lap and playing a few notes to get the right key. They sang the first three verses and hummed another round. Adam had started to sing the first verse again, when he realized Hoss was silent. When he looked over, he saw his brother's mouth gaping in a wide smile as he pointed towards the bed.

"Hey, Pa! You're awake," The middle son said with a sigh of relief. "How ya doing?"

Adam set his guitar aside, added cool water to the cloth, and laid it back in place as Ben's lids fluttered closed again.

Hoss and Adam assumed he'd drifted back to sleep, but his soft, scratchy voice made both of them jump.

"Your singing was real nice, boys. I'm glad you're home."

"How about a sip or two of water while we have you awake," Adam encouraged.

A weak nod indicated Ben's willingness. Hoss got behind him to help him sit while Adam spooned in what he could.

"My leg …."

Adam's, "Does it hurt?" received a nod. "We thought so, but it's good to know for sure. Did it start hurting before you got this fever, Pa?" Adam asked, hoping for some insight to give Paul.

"All came on … together, I guess." Ben reached for Hoss' arm and grabbed on. "Please … bend my knee. Feels like … constant cramp."

After they got a pillow placed to help with the cramp, they receiving a wan smile, and Adam offered another spoonful of water. This time it dribbled down Ben's chin.

"He's asleep," he told Hoss. "Let's get him back down and comfortable."

**Nine**

Hoss had gone back to bed following Ben's brief waking, and Adam had gotten another nap in once Little Joe and Bertie relieved him at dawn. As the morning passed with chores being done, and the noise and activity of ranch life providing a constant hum, no visitor would have suspected that this "normal" atmosphere was anything but normal.

When the brothers sat down for lunch, they all reported having felt light-headed while working, from breathing too fast while thinking about their father's tenuous state.

The three of them jumped, and ran outside when they heard a team nearing the house. They smiled with excitement and then shifted foot-to-foot with impatience while waiting for the rig bearing Dr. Martin to stop.

"You made good time," Little Joe called out in greeting.

Paul was covered from head to toe in gray dust, and he began brushing himself off as he stepped to the ground. "I pushed old Sally as fast as I could until I met your men," he told the three. "And then I strapped my case down and held on. I've never gone so fast, or enjoyed the ride more in my life." He chuckled briefly and then his mood turned sober. "Is Ben doing any better?"

He didn't wait for an answer. The three distressed faces staring back at him sent his purposeful stride towards the house.

"So … what do you think?" Adam pressed Paul after a cursory exam.

"I think … that all of you should stop hovering so I can work and Ben can get some oxygen." He grinned at the group crowding the bed. "So far, I concur that he has a high fever. You say it's been going on for several days straight?"

Heads nodded as the assembly took a step back.

"How about someone give me the actual progression, and anything else you've discovered," Paul prompted while directing his gaze toward Bertie.

She began, and along with Hop Sing's take on the first days of the illness, they managed to fill Paul in. Adam and Bertie then explained how little Dr. Johnson's had done, and his refusal to consider anything other than "the town's fever."

Paul shook his head as he listened, and made a low growling noise when they finished. "You were wise to contact me. I don't think Dr. Johnson treated anyone who had 'that' fever. It started two weeks back at one of the ill-kept private mines, and it was contained in a day or two. I went out there to help Dr. Jeffries before heading to Genoa, and we determined the cause as consuming water from a dirty pond. Thankfully it wasn't cholera, and no one got sick once they began boiling the water for drinking. Dr. Johnson must have _heard _about a fever, but not the details."

Ben remained asleep even as Paul began a more thorough exam, pulling back the covers to check the leg that Adam reported had bothered his father for the same amount of time as the fever.

"I worried about infection from the beginning," Paul confided. "I cleaned that wound thoroughly, but that axe was probably laying in the dirt before it was placed in the log where Ben fell on it. I was hopeful we'd avoided that outcome when Ben healed so quickly."

While Paul continued examining Ben's leg, Adam said, "I remember what my infected leg looked like, and there's nothing like that going on. Pa's leg might hurt, but it doesn't even look swollen."

Paul dug in his bag, withdrawing a cloth tape, and measured Ben's unaffected leg. "Now let's see what we get on this one. It's often an optical illusion that there's equality even when there's a substantial difference." He held his thumb on the tape indicating the circumference of the good leg as he completed his measurements.

Bertie looked over at Adam, shook her head, and tsk'd disgustedly. "I should have thought of doing that."

"Don't feel bad, Bertie," Paul told after showing a good two-inch difference in size. "This only proves there's something going on. You knew there was a problem just from his symptoms."

"What is 'goin' on?'" Hoss asked tightly.

"There's inflammation for sure. It could be a blood clot, but he probably wouldn't have a high a fever. I'd lean towards infection."

"Then why isn't there more evidence of that?" Adam asked. "I'd expect drainage from a festering wound."

"Not necessarily," Paul explained. "What you had, Adam, was infected tissue all along the path of that arrow. Ben's wound was well-cleaned, and healed nicely. But there must have been a small irritation deep inside that formed an abscess over the last two months."

"You're saying that Pa had something growing in his leg all this time? That sounds awful!" Joe's complexion was decided pale, leaning towards a green that matched his jacket.

"Not so awful, Joe. An abscess is a pocket of infection. It eventually makes you sick when it hides out like this one, but it keeps the infection confined. If this was infected tissue, I'd be removing Ben's leg today to save him. From what I see, the abscess must still be intact. The pain and cramping indicate it's getting large enough to displace muscles and irritate nerves, and therefore, dangerously close to rupturing. I'll have to lance and drain the abscess, and then lavage the wound with iodine and bromine. We'll do hot compresses between that to draw out any remaining … sludge. Once it's drained, Ben's fever should drop rapidly; he'll come around and be able to eat and drink enough to assist his healing." Paul looked around the room at the hopeful faces. "The bad news is that I'm not positive where the abscess is located. I'll have to have to make an incision based on a best-guess. Ben may seem nearly comatose, but I can guarantee he's not going to like this one bit—especially if I have to try more than once."

Noting the uneasy, to near-horrified looks coming his way, Paul grinned and added. "Don't worry. I'll just ask Bertie to assist and Hop Sing to provide necessities. I'd suggest the Cartwright sons exit at that time."

"I gotta ask somethin'" Hoss said as he smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Why didn't that other doctor figure this out? Adam and Bertie told him about Pa's leg!"

Joe took up where Hoss left off. "If we hadn't decided to get you, we'd have kept putting cool compresses on Pa's head, while this thing in his leg kept getting bigger until it let loose and the infection killed him from the inside out."

Paul shrugged. "That's about right. I don't know why he didn't listen to your concerns. But be assured, I will ask Dr. Johnson the next time I see him."

Every head in the room snapped towards the door. "What is it you need to ask me, Dr. Martin?" The older doctor walked towards the bed. "I stopped out to see how Mr. Cartwright was doing, but when no one answered the door, I let myself in and came up." He directed an accusing glare at Adam. "It seems you weren't as satisfied with my diagnosis as you let on. It's a shame you called Dr. Martin back for a simple illness."

Paul had Dr. Johnson's arm in his grasp and was leading him out of the room before anyone realized what was happening. He shut the door as they exited, and the others were left to stare at each other. Raised voices could be heard in the hallway, but the sturdy walls made the words unintelligible.

Bertie asked Hoss to help her get the covers back over Ben, and then grinned at the others. "I sure would love to hear what's being said out there."

Paul escorted his colleague back into the room several minutes later. "Dr. Johnson has something to say."

The older man's cheeks were bright red, and his previous bravado was replaced by hesitation. "It seems … that I may have made a few wrong assumptions regarding the … diagnosis … of Mr. Cartwright's illness. I apologize that my … shortsightedness … has extended his recovery … or more accurately, delayed proper care." He looked at his feet. "I'll be on my way, leaving your father in more capable hands."

Hop Sing stepped forward to escort Dr. Johnson outside, while the others stayed put … and silent until he was gone.

"What did you say to him?" Bertie asked as soon as they heard the front door close. "I've worked with every doctor in town, except him. No one wants to have a layperson suggest an alternative to their diagnosis, but I've never had another practitioner outright refuse to consider it if there was corroboration from the symptoms and confirming witnesses."

"It pains me deeply to admit this. We hired him because he seemed personable and comfortable in working in a limited capacity. We had him promise to seek help if he came upon anything that he wasn't sure about. He must have been a capable physician at one time, since others responded positively to our inquiries. But as often happens where there's a scarcity of doctors, he lost the ability to reconsider. No one challenged his conclusions, and I'm sure that when someone did, he pulled his 'years of practice' rebuttal out of his black bag. He just admitted to me that he hasn't been reading his medical journals. And the worst thing, is that he hasn't attended the required weekly meetings where all our town doctors discuss illnesses and problems we've encountered, as well as what worked best as treatment. Dr. Johnson always had an excuse for why he couldn't get there. By not attending the most recent one, he incorrectly treated Ben based on hearsay. He'll be leaving today to resume his retirement full-time." Paul sighed deeply, and then smiled lopsidedly. "Enough talk! Let's get Ben Cartwright back to working order!"

Paul was able to lance the abscess on his first try. His order for Hoss, Joe and Adam to vamoose before he began had been met with indignant refusals. But the amount and odor of the greenish exudate that shot from the incision, sent Joe and Hoss running from the room. Even Adam hurried to the window for a few breaths while claiming he would be fine … just before sinking onto a chair and groaning like a sick steer. Bertie, an old hand in these things, pursed her lips and grimaced, but she never left Paul's side.

Ben's fever began to recede quickly once the wound was cleaned and dressed, and as Paul had predicted, he opened his eyes within the hour. He was quiet and woozy at first, but his strength began to return with the water and broth Hop Sing forced him to consume.

The day stretched on with treatments and force-feeding. As well as things seemed to be going, Paul decided to stay the night, continuing to flush the abscess every hour until only serum was visible on compress. The recovered siblings were able to offer their assistance, and sat with their father between the treatments to give Paul a break.

The group set up a rotation of caregivers with times assigned to provide monitoring and other times of rest. But those trying to rest couldn't miss the effects the painful lavages produced on the now wide-awake patient. The agonized moans finally prompted Paul to suggest something to ease the pain, even though Ben had barely come out of his near comatose state.

The suggestion was refused at first, with Ben claiming loudly and with vigor that he could handle it. But as the night dragged on, he finally succumbed. The injection Paul administered, helped him sleep soundly even as they continued what he'd labeled, "the torture."

**Ten**

Paul had claimed that all was well, but his actions had spoken louder. He'd remained at the Ponderosa until the wound he'd made was no longer draining and Ben's fever was completely gone. Only then did he write instructions for the household to follow until everything was completely healed.

Bertie decided she'd accompany Paul when he left, declaring her contribution completed. She smiled widely and gave each brother a sturdy hug after she read the thankyou note, accompanied by a most generous sum of cash, they'd handed her on the way outside.

Paul's final prescriptions before leaving, included Ben's ability to join his family downstairs and remain out of bed as long as he kept his leg elevated. The good doctor had also shown him some simple exercises he could begin while sitting, and continue when he was able to stand. When Ben protested, Paul reminded him of how stiff his leg … and motivation had become without activity the last time he'd been laid up with this injury.

Adam stood at the bottom of the stairs watching his brothers assist their father down for his initial excursion to the first floor, and smiled as they neared the last step. "You can't imagine how happy we all are to have you up, Pa."

Ben chuckled. "One would think you three were worried about me."

Hoss waited until they safely deposited their cargo into a fully pillowed red chair and got his leg comfortably propped up, before squatting next to his father. "Worried don't cover the half of it, Pa."

His demeanor changed from teasing to deadly serious, as Ben replied, "I'm sorry this happened, boys." He looked up at the other two who were hovering above his chair. "I'm sorry for a lot of things that have happened lately, and I thank you for sticking together as a family through all of it."

"We're Cartwrights!" Joe said firmly. "You've been telling me since I was a kid that this is what Cartwrights do."

"You're still a kid," Adam teased. "Although you've shown yourself to be growing into quite a man."

"Sit down," Ben directed. "My neck hurts peering up at you." He waited while Adam perched on the arm of his chair, and Joe and Hoss claimed seats on the low table in front of him. "I'm feeling well enough that I'd like to talk about some of those things I just referred to. I didn't want to speak of family business with Paul around, but now it's time."

"I think we know what yer gonna say, Pa," Hoss interjected. "And we talked it all through when we was in San Francisco."

Ben looked directly at Adam. "You were able to do as I asked?"

A nod. "We concluded that while you had to work through Gabe's death and your injury, your absence left us fighting uphill. That made it harder to accomplish things that should have gone smoothly. You told us we had to take over: that the ranch was ours to run. But you didn't give us any true authority." Adam waited for a reaction. As he'd expected, he saw his father nod.

"You really did think this through," Ben said with pride.

"There's something you should know now that you're up to it. Harry dropped off a hand-written version of the new articles of our business documents you asked him to do. I should have waited for you to recover before reading it, but … well … there were a few hours when we weren't sure that would happen."

"No worries, son." Ben reached for Adam's hand and gave it a sturdy squeeze. "You did the right thing. My only concern is what you three think about it?"

"I didn't show Hoss and Joe," Adam admitted. "Paul got here that day, and we began to hope that you'd be fine, so I waited for you to tell them about it."

"What are you two talking about?" Joe asked; his brow creasing, as he squinted at them.

Adam walked to the desk, retrieved the envelope from the wide middle drawer, and handed it to his father. "I doubt you two remember the original articles of the ranch, so I'll read through those quickly, and then Pa can tell you about his additions."

It took nearly 15-minutes for both sections to be read, and Joe was grinning by the time his father finished.

"You did this while we were away?"

Ben nodded.

"You came to the same conclusions as us," Hoss stated with conviction. "Why didn't you just tell us what you thought instead of sending us away?"

"If I know Adam, he didn't just tell you what went wrong, he helped you learn from it. You also needed to address your anger, even if you think you didn't have any. The truth is; you did, and it was justified. We can all start fresh now."

The sons nodded, but no one spoke.

Ben looked at each of them, and finally continued. "The day I showed up at camp and saw Adam fighting for the respect of the crew—despite all your experience and well-earned ability to take over—I realized I'd let you down and made so many mistakes. As Cartwrights, we fight hard to keep what we have, and to get what we want. But we do it together, no matter who's leading the effort. It was different when you were boys, but things have changed dramatically over the years. No one should ever doubt your word of authority. You've already proved yourselves over and over again as men. And our project should never hang in the balance because I haven't that clear enough." He crossed him arms and set his jaw. Having to remain seated, this was as close as he could get to the position he always assumed when making a point. "I also realized that I need to let each of you spearhead bigger projects, so others get used to seeing what my words attest."

Hoss was the first to respond. "I can't say I even like bein' in charge, but I know Joe and Adam do, and I guess there's always a chance that somethin'll happen and it'll come down to me. So I gotta stop whinin' and learn what to do."

After a few seconds of silence, Ben said, "I'm glad your short time away proved valuable. But what made you three come home early? I remember wondering if I was dreaming that you were back." His lip rose as he thought more deeply. "You must have left San Francisco last Friday to get here when you did. That was two days after you got there. Did Hop Sing send a wire by then?"

Hoss looked towards his brothers and smiled broadly at his father. "We didn't know about you being sick until we got off the stage. But two days seemed enough. I even got a sauna bath, and a massage."

"When we got your wire about not joining us," Joe continued, "We all three agreed to get back here and do something to include you, even if it was just some fishing. The truth is, Pa, that you can make a mistake once-in-a-while, and we won't fall apart. This situation was different because of Gabe's death. We all walked on eggshells so we didn't make a bad thing even worse. But we probably should have just talked … or even shouted it out right away and did like you always tell us: take one step at a time."

Silence lingered over the four men as they each nodded their approval of Joe's suggestion, until Hoss stood. "Well, I guess if you're comfortable, Pa, we should get out and do some work until lunchtime."

"Is there something needing your immediate attention?" Ben asked

The sons looked at one another and finally shook their heads. "Just normal stuff," Joe admitted.

Ben smiled at his sons. "Then this morning, let's honor Gabe by taking time to appreciate the great gifts we've been given: our faith, our health, family and this wonderful place we call home. Get comfortable, and tell me everything you did in San Francisco, including more about all this bathing Hoss did. And when you're done with that, I seem to remember Adam playing his guitar and Hoss singing one night when I was ill. I also remember liking it very much. Was that real or a dream?"

"It was real," Adam told him, and then grinned. "Would you like us to reprise our repertoire? It's limited to two songs at present, but with you and Joe singing too, we can probably expand it."

"I'd like nothing more."

The End

*Frankie Wadsworth is Adam's college roommate in my personal canon of pre and post Bonanza episodes for Adam. Frankie and Adam became close friends. Frankie's family was from Boston, and came to love Adam like a son. Frankie moved to San Francisco after school to open a branch of his family's engineering business in the West. He often uses Adam's expertise in design and business.

Anther character from my own stories will be referenced as well. Melinda was the young woman Adam fell in love with while in college. They parted when he graduated, but promised to marry as soon as she finished college herself. Adam never heard from her after he got home. The mystery of why that happened is solved in my _One Step Closer_ series.

1 The peephole in doors that we're familiar with: the fisheye lens, was invented by George Winningham in 1932. However the idea of having a small opening to view the hallway outside was around for some time. I don't know for sure that the Occidental Hotel had them, but it seems probable.

2 Peter Fleming is complete fiction. I wanted to put him the Boston Symphony, but it didn't form until 1881. The New York Philharmonic was around much earlier, and the only musicians I could find referenced were from Europe.


End file.
